


In Praise of the Hunt

by EileenDover



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Blood and Violence, Bows & Arrows, Daggers, Double Penetration, Dream Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Jorrvaskr (Elder Scrolls), Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nightgate Inn, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Other, Outdoor Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sex In A Cave, Swordfighting, The Silver Hand (Elder Scrolls), Werewolf Sex, Werewolf Turning, Whiterun (Elder Scrolls)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EileenDover/pseuds/EileenDover
Summary: Vilkas hates the new recruit, so when Kodlak sends them both on a mission up north, he does everything in his power to keep her at arms length. Could the headstrong Bosmer be the key to soothing the beast within him? Only one way to find out...***My smutty tribute to the brooding werewolf of our hearts, Vilkas! This story starts at the beginning of the Companions storyline, but doesn’t get far or follow it. There will be action, adventure, smoldering and smut! Trust me on this one! Shit will get wild. ;)PS. All (*cough* well, most) of the non/dub-con elements are in a dream.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Vilkas
Comments: 30
Kudos: 60





	1. Eyes in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun trying to get Vilkas’s voice just right, so hopefully you hear it when he speaks! I also had a lot of fun thinking of the Dovahkiin for this story, she really came to life as I wrote her. Now she’s got a full backstory so ugh, just add it to the list of stories I want to tell!

The new recruit was a Bosmer, and Vilkas hated her with every bone in his body.

For one thing, the elf was cocky. He grudgingly admitted that she had the skill to back it up, but still, he found her confidence bothersome. The tiny wood elf had bested him in every sparring match since she’d arrived, and each loss was like salt in an open wound. Whenever they were paired up together his heart would race uncontrollably, and his palms would sweat so profusely that it made victory all but impossible. He had no idea why his body reacted this way, and it just added to his vexation.

For two, she was a smart-ass know-it-all. Arguing with her was infuriating, and the fact that she was usually right made it even worse. She ran verbal circles around him, always knowing the right thing to say, with some witty quip or other. Vilkas had never been one for conversation, and words seemed to fail him altogether when she was around. This only served to make him more determined to hate her.

In fact, now that he thought about it, everything about the Bosmer set him on edge. The way she moved— fluid and easy, like nothing troubled her in the world. The way she dressed— always in that leather armor with her hood pulled up. And her eyes— two black and bottomless pools of Oblivion, that always seemed to follow him. Vilkas didn’t even have to see her to know if she was in the room— he could _feel_ her gaze on his skin.

As if this wasn’t bad enough, the Bosmer seemed to have the rest of the Companions under some strange woodland glamour. They’d all accepted her immediately— Aela, Vignar, his own brother Farkas… The Harbinger himself had welcomed her with open arms without knowing the first thing about her. Nine Hells, once he even saw Skjor chuckle at a joke she told, and that old wolf had never laughed before in his entire life! Vilkas had waited months for them to see the folly of their judgement, but still the Bosmer remained. Clearly, she wasn’t going anywhere. Sheogorath, it was madness. 

The worst part was, whenever they were in the same room the elf would somehow make him lose his concentration. He constantly found himself tripping on his own feet, spilling his mead, dropping his sword... It was embarrassing, humiliating and Vilkas wasn’t going to take it anymore.

It must be witchcraft. He’d spent a week pouring over tomes about conjuration, enchantments and illusions, trying to discern if she had in fact placed him under a spell. All of this research led nowhere though, and he resigned himself to the idea that she probably wasn’t a mage. All Vilkas knew for certain was that something had changed when the Bosmer turned up on their steps, and he didn’t like not knowing what it was.

He pictured her face hidden under that hood of hers, smirking at him from her bed in the common room. He could practically see her eyes shining in the darkness, mocking him for the monster they all knew he truly was...

“Oblivion take you!” Vilkas snapped, throwing the book he'd been pretending to read.

“Hey, watch it!” Aela said, ducking as the tome flew past her head, “I just came to say Kodlak’s looking for you. He’s at the Skyforge,” his Shield-Sister turned from him, kicking the book as she left. “And he's mad,” she called over her shoulder.

“Nine Hells,” Vilkas grumbled. He put the book back on his shelf, upset that he’d lost his temper. What was it about the Bosmer that always got him so worked up? She occupied way too much space in his mind as of late. Rubbing his tired eyes, he decided to go find Kodlak and see what the old man wanted him for. With any luck, it just might give him something else to think about.

Vilkas squinted at the midday sun as he left the mead hall and stepped into the empty training grounds. Jorrvaskr had been quiet this past week— most of the other Companions were out on a big hunt, his brother Farkas among them. He would feel more at ease when they came back. Jorrvaskr wasn’t the same without his brother’s booming laugh, and too much time alone with the Bosmer had been messing with his head… 

Damn it. There he was, thinking about her again.

He started up the stairs that led to the forge, forcing himself to wonder instead what the Harbinger might want from him. Vilkas was a member of the Circle, so it wasn’t unusual for Kodlak to seek his opinion on guild matters, but lately it seemed like something new was weighing on the old man’s mind. He spent more time alone in his quarters pouring over documents and old tomes, his strength slowly eroding with each passing moon cycle.

Vilkas found this new change concerning. He had never known Kodlak to be so secretive before, and it upset him that the old man didn’t trust him enough to share what was troubling him. He’d asked several times, but it seemed the older the Harbinger got, the more stubborn he became. 

Nearing the top of the stairs, Vilkas saw Kodlak talking with Eorlund Grey-Mane, the veteran Nord who ran the forge. 

“Ah. Vilkas. You took your time getting here,” Kodlak chuckled, “Got your nose stuck in another book, eh? What was this one about?”

“A lusty Argonian maid,” Vilkas grinned, “but an old man like you would hardly be interested in such an intellectual story.”

“You’d be surprised, my boy,” Kodlak said, his pale eyes twinkling, “but you must have guessed that I didn’t call you here to discuss fine works of literature.” 

This is what Vilkas had been waiting for. He looked earnestly at the Harbinger, “Tell me what I can do. I’ll help in any way I can.” Erolund and Kodlak exchange glances.

“It’s not just about what _you_ can do for me,” the old man said, thinking carefully about his next words, “It’s what you... and Mindra... can do _together_.”

“Mindra?!” Vilkas practically spat the word.

Mindra Willowwood. Vilkas even hated the way her name sounded. It was so soft, so whimsical, so perfectly elfin. Damn it to Nine Hells, maybe age had addled Kodlak’s brain after all.

“Told you he wouldn’t do it,” Erolund said with a smirk, turning back to the forge.

Vilkas was fuming. “There’s no way I am doing _anything_ with—,” but he quickly shut his mouth as the petit Bosmer herself stepped out from behind the smelter.

A smile played at the corners of her thin, wide lips as she spoke, “Don’t you even want to know what it is we’ll be doing?” She kept her voice calm and cool, even though she’d clearly heard what he just said. 

Vilkas crossed his arms over his chest. No, definitely not. 

“Fine,” he said loudly, “ _What_.”

Kodlak stroked his beard as if nothing was amiss, and Mindra came to stand next to him. She crossed her arms, black eyes shining from under her hood. The damn Bosmer was mocking him. 

Vilkas made a show of rolling his eyes, and was about to say something rude, but Kodlak spoke first.

“The Silver Hand,” the Harbinger began, “is back.”

“No!” Vilkas almost shouted. He was shocked by the news, and made no effort to hide it. “That’s impossible! They were all wiped out back when—,“ but Kodlak raised a weathered hand.

“A few remained, and they have started to grow in numbers again. They’ve been amassing recruits and weapons at Fort Fellhammer, a garrison just south of Dawnstar. I have it on good authority they are planning something big,” he looked to Mindra then back to the black-haired Nord, “and the Companions need to know what it is.”

As much as Vilkas didn't want to have anything to do with the Bosmer, he loved Kodlak like a father. The old man had practically raised he and Farkas since they were pups. Seeing him like this- so frail and fraught with worry, Vilkas wanted nothing more than to help in any way he could— even if it meant spending a few days alone in the wilderness with his nemesis.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Vilkas said flatly. His eyes flickered to the elf, and as he met her stare, a fluttering sensation stirred in his stomach. _By Ysmir,_ he was going to regret this, wasn’t he?

Kodlak and Erolund exchanged another glance, then with a snort the forgemaster pulled a small coin purse from his tunic and threw it at the Harbinger. 

“Erolund didn’t think you’d agree,” said Kodlak, raising an eyebrow, “but I knew you’d see the importance of our mission. Now come, my pups. There is quite a lot to divulge, and we have very little time.” 

* * *

Back in his study, Kodlak filled them in on the details. He supplied them with maps, a hand-drawn layout of the Fort, and information about the documents they were supposed to steal. The Harbinger stressed how imperative it was that they were not to be seen— if the Silver Hand caught wind of what they were planning, it’d be the start of an all-out war between them. 

The Harbinger also revealed that the hunt the rest of the Companions had been sent on had been merely a distraction. If the Silver Hand were indeed following their movements, tracking a large hunting party would keep them occupied. Meanwhile, Vilkas and Mindra were to make their way to Winterhold undetected, steal the plans, and get out. No bloodshed— Kodlak had been adamant about that. They were to set out immediately.

Mindra helped Kodlak into his seat and brought him a glass of water. “Don’t worry about us, Harbinger. Between Vilkas and I, there’s no way we can fail,” she assured him, patting his hand. The way she treated the old man was kind, almost tender. Then her eyes flicked to Vilkas and said, “In fact, it might be even easier if I went alone...”

Wait just a damn minute. Did the elf just imply that he wasn’t cut out for the job? Vilkas felt his face heat up as he raised his voice. 

“I know the Silver Hand, and I know their weaknesses! Kodlak, as a senior guild member I _insist_ that I go with her. There’s too much at stake, and we can’t afford for the mission to be bungled by a new recruit.” Vilkas was infuriated. He hadn’t even wanted to go in the first place, and now here he was, practically demanding it.

The Harbinger looked from one Companion to the other, a weary expression coming over his face. “You are both more than qualified for this task,” he said in a shaking voice, “There will be time enough for bickering when you return, now you must hurry. Do not forget how important your success is.”

Vilkas wished he could make the old man see reason. Mindra was too green for this job, too untested for this amount of responsibility. The future of the guild could very well hang in the balance of their actions, but it was too late. The Bosmer was a Companion now, and he would just have to deal with it.

Kodlak kissed her on the forehead before they left, wishing them both a safe return. When Mindra left the room, the old man grabbed his arm and pulled Vilkas aside.

“You take care of her,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from talking. “She’s a rare find, that one.”

Vilkas snorted. “Something tells me the Bosmer can take care of herself.” 

“Yes, yes. That may very well be,” chuckled Kodlak. “Just remember that you can _trust_ her, my boy.” 

Vilkas respected Kodlak above all others, and the old man had never been wrong before. As he and Mindra descended the steps of Jorrvaskr, he decided that anyone the Harbinger trusted, he would as well.

“If you don’t hurry up we’re going to miss the carriage,” Mindra smirked over her shoulder at him, “...Mammoth feet.”

Vilkas hiked up his knapsack and picked up the pace. She may be a Companion, but that didn’t mean he had to like her.

After a brisk walk through the Wind and the Plains districts of Whiterun, they arrived at the stables outside of the city walls. The driver, a blond Nord named Bjorlam was hooking up his stocky brown horse to the carriage. The mare stamped a large hoof, impatient to start moving.

“Quiet day today. Where do you need to go?” Bjorlam asked, patting the steed’s neck.

“Nightgate Inn,” Vilkas replied, handing over their fare. They had decided to stay at the remote waypost on the border of Winterhold, where they would eat and rest before traversing the mountainous regions north to Fort Fellhammer. This way they would hopefully avoid any scouts that might be keeping an eye on the roads. It wouldn’t be an easy journey, but they had little choice.

Mindra took her seat in the back of the wagon. Vilkas wasn’t about to spend the whole ride next to her, so he put his rucksack down on the floor and sat on the opposite bench, folding his arms again. This ride was going to be fun.

With a click of his mouth, Bjorlam snapped the reigns and the horse started into a trot. They both lurched as the carriage was pulled along behind it. 

“So, what brings you two to The Pale?” the driver asked over his shoulder. 

“Family business,” Vilkas replied. His tone was curt and impersonal, implying that nothing more needed to be said on the subject. 

“How has the weather been up there?” Mindra inquired. Here she goes with the small talk. Of course she was going to befriend him.

“Snow, snow and more snow, if you can believe it,” Bjorlam snorted, “That’s why business has been so slow this week— a big storm is rolling in from the Sea of Ghosts. The Jarl’s mage says it’s headed straight for us! I’ll be going straight back to Whiterun after I drop you two off.” 

“People are smart to stay home,” Mindra replied. “Sounds like tonight I’ll be in need of a roaring fire and a mug of spiced mead.”

“And a strong Nord to warm your bed, I’d wager!” the driver laughed, looking to Vilkas through the corner of his eye. 

Vilkas grunted and looked away, watching the farms and windmills roll lazily by. The voices faded as he lost himself at thought, staring out over the tidy hills and valleys. Mindra was easy to talk to, and good at making friends. Not like him. People were drawn to her, as if she was magnetic— even Bjorlam’s horse seemed to be charmed. So why was his reaction to the Bosmer the polar opposite? Maybe he was the one who needed to adjust his attitude and give the elf a chance.

They rolled on. Fields turned to woods, and woods to forest as they followed the Imperial road north along the river. The air became noticeably colder as mountains began to appear in the distance. Mindra pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders, closing her eyes and leaning on her bag.

The journey was truly quiet at that point. The only sounds were the creaking wheels of the carriage, the birds and Bjorlam both whistling their soft tunes. Mindra’s head was nodding softly as she dozed, and Vilkas allowed himself to really look at her for what might have been the first time. She was petite- tiny even, with the tan skin of a wood elf, rosy cheeks and brown eyebrows. Vilkas had to grudgingly admit she was pleasing to the eye, her delicate features giving her an almost fragile appearance. He had just started to imagine what kissing her would feel like, before he shook the thought away. Anyone who’d crossed blades with her knew how deceiving those soft looks were. 

No question, the Bosmer was a warrior. Her worn leather armor was buckled tight across her body, covering her from head to foot. He counted the daggers strapped to her jack- there were five that he could see, but he knew she had more. A quiver and bow rested across her lap as she napped, her bobbing head covered by the heavy hood she always kept up. Even with all the natural-born skill in the world, one didn’t get to her level without dedicating their entire life to training. She must have lived rough for many years to become so hardened. He wondered what she had done before joining with the Companions. If Vilkas didn’t know any better, he’d say her leathers looked suspiciously like the ones worn by the Thieves Guild in Riften...

She woke suddenly, catching his eyes on her. Vilkas couldn’t give her the satisfaction of being the one to look away first, so he held her gaze. They went on like that, locked in an awkward battle of wills to see whose stare would falter first.  
  
“Why did you tell Kodlak you would be better off doing this job alone?” he asked. Her words had bothered him, and the Nord felt this was the perfect time to confront her about it.  
  
“Because I knew you did not want to come,” said Mindra plainly, not skipping a beat. Vilkas felt suddenly childish. Of course, he’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to have anything to do with her— she’d have to be an idiot not to pick up on all the hints he’d dropped. The Bosmer had tried to give him an out, but he, like the troll he was, had stomped right over it. Before he could look away in embarrassment, they were both jerked out of their seats as the carriage jumped beneath them.

“Sorry about that!” Bjorlam waved, “You think when Ulfric wins the war he’ll start his reign by fixing the roads?”

Mindra laughed, and she and the driver started discussing politics. Vilkas groaned inwardly, abruptly angry once more. The Bosmer was intolerable! His first instinct about her has been correct— it was everyone else who was wrong. He hated the weather for being so cold. He hated the wagon for being so bumpy. He hated the Bosmer for being so attractive, and he hated his life for the terrible secret he was forced to harbor...

He shut his eyes in frustration, eventually lulled into a lucid sleep by the gentle rocking of the carriage. 

Vilkas found himself alone in a dense forest, naked and fully erect. He was lost. He moved as quietly as he could through the trees— somehow he knew he was being hunted. An otherworldly mist licked at his ankles as he crept forwards towards a grove. Careful not to make a sound, the only thing the Companion could hear was his own heartbeat. Reaching out, he carefully parted the leaves that blocked his view of the glen.

There in the center of the clearing towered a giant, stag-headed man. The otherworldly figure was bathed in starlight, holding a bow and arrow. The only clothes it wore were the pelts of wild beasts, fastened to its body with claws and tusks. 

All at once Vilkas understood that this was the creature who had been hunting him. Instinct kicked in, and he knew he had to get away. He took a step back, suddenly fearful, and strangely ashamed of his hardness. 

Trying his best to cover himself, he began to move away from the clearing. He wasn’t supposed to be here. His foot caught on a branch as he stepped backwards, the noise from his fall breaking the silence. Slowly, the great and mighty Hircine turned his antlered head, blowing out a puff of steam from his flared nostrils. Vilkas felt his stomach drop as the Daedric Prince raised his bow, aiming the tip of his arrow straight at his heart.

At the snap of the bowstring, Vilkas woke up with a gasp. 

Mindra’s voice reached him as he pulled himself out of the dream. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” he said, a bitter taste in his mouth. Not wanting to talk about it, he said nothing more.

“Because you were making these noises...,” she continued, but stopped when he looked away.

“Here we are! Nightgate Inn,” their driver interrupted as the brown mare slowed to a clop, “You two enjoy your _family business,_ ” he said with a wink. 

Vilkas wasted no time. He grabbed his pack and jumped down from the wagon, walking away without a word. Behind him he heard the Bosmer thank Bjorlam for a pleasant ride, wishing him safe return. He couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling as he climbed the old wooden steps that led to the inn. She was incorrigible.

A warm gust of air greeted him as he stepped inside, along with cries of _‘Close the damn door!’_ from the other patrons. 

“What’ll it be?” asked the grizzled one-eyed innkeeper as Vilkas approached the bar. 

Deciding that he definitely deserved a drink, he said, “Venison stew and a glass of alto wine.” He paused to weigh over if he should order for the Bosmer or not. 

The Innkeeper threw his towel over his shoulder, “We only have rabbit tonight. Take a seat and I’ll bring it right out.” 

Vilkas hated sitting with his back to an open area, so he chose a table in the corner with a good view of the room and door. A group of Nords sat at the table opposite him, enjoying their roast dinners and pints of mead— locals, no doubt, probably farmers. A few other travelers were taking refuge from the coming storm, including a pair of elderly Dunmari women, who he guessed were making a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Azura. At the opposite end of the room a lone orc sat on a bench, scribbling away in a book. 

In the back of his mind Vilkas had been worried about running into Silver Hand scouts, but everyone in the inn looked to be minding their own business. The large fire pit in the center of the room crackled merrily away, and through the window he saw it was beginning to snow. They had made it just in time.

The heavy wooden door swung open for a second time, and again everybody grumbled to shut it. Mindra closed the door with a flourish, then took a bow as if she were on a damn stage. The two Dunmer women laughed delightedly at this, and clapped as she took her seat at the table with him. How did people not see how corny she was?

“I’m starving. What did you get us for dinner?” she asked, laying her bow and quiver on the table. 

“I only ordered for myself,” said Vilkas flatly, not even bothering to make an excuse. He secretly hoped the Bosmer would become angry with him, lose her cool for once. Vilkas wanted her to treat him the way he had been treating her- the way he _deserved_ to be treated. Instead, Mindra just smiled.

“That’s fine,” she said. Then the Bosmer leaned back in her chair and shouted to the innkeeper (even though he was nowhere in sight), “Hadring! I’ll have what my friend here is having!” 

At the sound of her voice, the Innkeeper- Hadring as he was apparently named- stuck his head out of the pantry and waved at Mindra. 

“Miss Willowwood! A pleasure to have you back, and on such a dreary night! Two rabbit stews, coming right up!” and he disappeared again into the kitchen.

“ _Miss Willowwood?_ ” Vilkas raised an eyebrow. Of _course_ she was friends with the owner of the most obscure rest stop in Skyrim. He couldn’t believe this was happening. “You’ve been here before.” 

“Oh, once or twice. Just passing through,” she spoke as if this were perfectly normal.

Hadring appeared with two big bowls of stew balanced on one arm, holding flagons of wine in the other. After setting the food and drink down on the table in front of them he said, “Your dinner is on the house, Miss Willowwood. I trust life has treated you well these last few years?”

“Very well indeed! When last I saw you I was a bit lost, but I seemed to have found my way again,” she said, tearing off a chunk of crusty bread, “And how about you? Where is your lovely Ingrid tonight?” 

The innkeeper looked momentarily crestfallen, though his smile never left his face, “Oh, Ingrid passed on last year. We had a tough few winters, and her health you see, it never fully recovered,” his voice trailed off. 

Mindra smiled sadly, and laid a hand on his arm. “Oh, I am sorry to hear that. She was always so sweet to me,” she said.

“Look at me, blathering away like an old fool!” he wiped his good eye with his thumb, and turned to Vilkas, “Where are my manners? You must introduce me to your husband!” 

The Bosmer’s musical laugh filled the room. “By the Nine, no! He’s just a friend. We have some business up north, and I wanted to stop in to see how you were, that’s all.” 

For some reason Vilkas felt stung by her reaction. _By the Nine?_ Was the thought of being married to him so repellent? He took a swig of wine and added stiffly, “That reminds me. We will be needing two rooms for the night.” 

“I’m afraid we only have one available. Busy night, what with the storm and all,” Hadring turned to Mindra, “Will that work for you?”

She giggled and sipped her wine. “Vilkas is a gentleman. I’m sure he’ll protect me with his life.” 

“I’ll leave you to your meal then,” he said, finally turning away, “Maybe later, if you feel like it, that is, you could sing another of your songs. I’m sure it would cheer an old man up.”

The Bosmer raised her flagon in a salute. “You know I can’t say no to you, Hadring. Still have that old lute in the cellar?” 

“I’ll go dust it off!” and with that he bounded away, leaving them to their dinner.

Vilkas looked at her over his wine. “So you’re a bard too, eh?”

“There’s a little more to me than you may have guessed,” she said, surreptitiously raising an eyebrow. 

Vilkas had secrets too— secrets that would shake the little Bosmer to her very core. She could never guess at the darkness that gnawed at him, at the beast he desperately tried to keep chained deep inside. He grunted, “Nobody is truly as they seem.” 

“Truer words. For example,” she raised a finger for him to wait while she took a long sip, “before tonight I would have thought you’d prefer a strong Nord mead, but I am pleasantly surprised that we now enjoy such an excellent vintage! I must say, I’m impressed with your palette.”

With a snort, Vilkas raised his drink. Maybe it was the warm fire, maybe it was the Alto Wine—in any case, he was surprised to find himself smiling. 

“It pairs well with the rabbit. But,” he chuckled, sopping up the dregs of his stew with the bread, “I do like mead.” Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. “Anyway, I thought you’d be drinking Rotmeth,” he said, “as a Bosmer, and all.”

Vilkas couldn’t help but notice how cute she was when she wrinkled her nose. “Fermented meat? _Yuck_ ,” she stuck out her tongue for emphasis. “I was born in Skyrim, muttonhead. Riften if you’re curious. You probably know more about the Green Pact than I do, with all those books you read.”

For a moment, Vilkas felt ashamed for assuming anything about her heritage. He had, in fact, read up about Bosmer history and culture since she’d joined the guild, and now he felt stupid for bringing it up. But Mindra only laughed, and reached across the table to tweak his chin.  
  
“Just because you look handsome when you sulk, doesn’t mean you have to do it all the time,” she said with a wry smile.

“I— I _wasn’t_ sulking,” he stammered, but Mindra chose to ignore his embarrassment. Instead she had turned, flagging down the Innkeeper for more wine. 

Hadring returned with the lute and two more flaggons, which Mindra insisted she pay for. 

“Put your purse away, your gold is no good here Miss Willowwood,” the one-eyed man said with a grin. 

“Then I’ll pay with a song!” And with that she took her place at the head of the room. 

As she began to tune the instrument, the other patrons’ voices lowered to a hush. One by one they all turned their attention to her as she began to play.

The song was instrumental, set in a haunting minor key. Somber and mournful, it evoked in him feelings of loneliness, loss and woe. There was nothing fancy in it, no galloping chords or dancing melodies, yet they all sat transfixed as if under the Bosmer’s spell. 

During the last chorus she started to sing in a language Vilkas didn’t recognize. He leaned his head back and let the music lull him into the warm glow of an eternal sunset. He floated down through a valley of mist, past mammoth bones and shrouded statues until she played the final chord. When Vilkas opened his eyes again, he saw Hadring wiping away tears. He knew then that Mindra had played her friend a song that might reach his wife in Sovngarde.

Almost immediately she started into a new tune. This one was bright and bawdy, dispelling the somber atmosphere instantly. As her fingers strummed the strings, she hit the body of the lute to add a lively beat. The old Dunmeri women started to clap along, bobbing their heads and smiling.

“This next one goes out to my friend Vilkas,” she shouted out, as the other patrons began to bang the tables and stomp in time to the rhythm. “The most handsome Nord that ever there was!” and with a wink, she began to sing.

_Mead, mead, mead!  
Wonderfully wet, sinfully sweet!  
Heft your mead horns and hold your mugs hiiiiiiiiigh….  
We want to keep drinking until we do die! _

_Mead, mead, mead!  
It's what a body needs!  
It makes us strong and wise and braaaaaave….  
There's nothing better, it's what we crave! _

_Mead, mead, mead!  
I drink it morning, noon, and eve.  
I like it spiced and sweet and powerful,  
I'll soon be drunk and that's quite probable, _

_Mead, mead, mead!  
Mead, mead, mead!  
Mead, mead, meeeeaaaaad!_

By the final verse everyone was singing along. Even Vilkas- full of food, song and wine- couldn’t help but join in. What a night! He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so hard. From across the room he raised his glass to Mindra, who was too busy toasting with the elderly Dunmer to notice. He smiled at her then— a smile he knew she wouldn’t see, but it was hers all the same.

The night wore on, and one by one the patrons turned in for the night with full hearts and stomachs. Vilkas found their room modest but cozy, the thick thatched roof sprawling out over the small window, fireplace and bed. Shrugging off his armor, he eased himself down on a fur rug in the corner. This would do just fine for him.

Mindra sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. She was hard to make out in the flickering light of the fire, but her voice reached him in the dark and he could see her eyes twinkling.

“You can sleep in the bed if you want to, you know.”

Her invite was enough to make him smile, and he finally admitted that he was tempted. A warm bed, a pretty woman… It had been a long time— but he stopped himself. “I’m comfortable here,” said Vilkas. If she wasn’t drunk, she sure was close. He didn’t want this to be something that she’d regret. Vilkas rolled over to face the wall.

“Oh, the stubbornness of Nords,” she mumbled. He could hear her fumble at her buckles, kick off her boots and flop down on the hay mattress. Within a minute she was softly snoring, and he chuckled to himself at how cute it sounded.

Vilkas’s mind wandered over the day's events. His feelings about Mindra had changed so many times, it made him wonder how he would feel in the morning. He hated himself then for his inconsistency, so there on the stone floor of the Nightgate Inn he resolved to be a better friend to the new recruit. He saw now the truth of his feelings— how much he respected her, how he was drawn to her. Though perhaps he had felt this way for a long time, and had just been to scared to admit it until now.

As he lay quietly in the dark, Vilkas fondly remembered how she’d called him handsome. There was a possibility- however small- that Mindra felt drawn to him too. Drifting off to sleep with that thought in his mind was pleasant indeed…

* * *

It was still dark when he awoke. Vilkas rolled over and heard Mindra’s deep, steady breathing. She still slept. Squinting, he could just barely make out her shadowy form in the bed. The room was pitch black save for a few smoldering logs in the fireplace, the embers still giving off a faint red glow. 

With a crackle, fire suddenly pulsed to life. Vilkas clamored to his feet in surprise, naked again, his erect length stiff and throbbing. The room had melted away, and the sleeping Bosmer now lay sprawled in the darkness at his feet. Vilkas was semi-aware that this was all a dream, yet he was powerless to stop it from unfolding. The Daedric Prince of the Hunt had found him.

Vilkas was on top of her in an instant, ripping through her thin shirt to expose her flesh as an offering to Hircine. The Bosmer woke and struggled under him, but he overcame her easily, pinning both arms above her head with a giant clawed hand. 

No longer a man, he had transformed into a powerful, primal beast, lost in the ecstasy of the eternal hunt. Spreading her legs with his, he thrust mercilessly into her, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh of her bosom.

His only desire now was to devour her, and when he stopped there would be nothing left of either of them.


	2. Hircine’s Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much fun to write, hehehe ;)

Vilkas awoke with Mindra’s screams still ringing in his ears. The dream had been so vivid, so graphic, that he swore he could taste the metallic tang of her blood. He looked to the bed in a panic, his heart pounding. A wave of relief washed through him when he saw the Bosmer slept soundly, undisturbed by his nightmare.

It was early hours still. The sun hadn’t yet breached the horizon, but the pale light of approaching dawn threatened the room’s darkness. Vilkas stood up, pressing a hand against his britches to hide the morning’s wood. Embarrassed and ashamed as he was, he leaned over the bed where Mindra slept. He had to be sure, to know that he hadn’t somehow, in a somnambulic trance, done the unthinkable— the unforgivable.

But Mindra was fine. She slept turned slightly to one side, wearing a white, loose-fitting tunic. Vilkas was surprised to see that she had pale blonde hair- funny, he had always pictured her as a brunette. It was long, and she had it braided tightly to either side of her head. 

She looked so peaceful, breathing quietly below him. He wanted to feel that— to be wrapped in her arms. To sleep unburdened by dreams, and wake up next to her, kissing the Bosmer's graceful neck...

Then he saw it. He was pulled from his thoughts as his eyes landed on the scar that ran across her throat. It was light, but distinct— a clean cut that ran from one ear to the other. Somebody had wanted her dead, and they’d gotten dangerously close to making it happen. 

Was that why she told Hadring she’d been lost? She mentioned she’d lived in Riften, but she must have studied in Solitude to become a bard. It made sense now why she would have stayed at this Inn before— it may be in the middle of nowhere, but it was a logical stop if you were traveling from one end of Skyrim to the other. _And now she was in Whiterun_ , he thought. _A Companion._

Vilkas wondered what it must be like to have lived in so many places, but belong to none of them. With a scar like that, the poor girl must have spent years looking over her shoulder, never knowing who to trust. 

It was hard to reconcile this new version of Mindra with the one who, just last night, had led a tavern in song. Mindra was so outgoing, so carefree, it never occurred to him that she might know suffering too. The Bosmer carried herself like someone untroubled by fate— or at least someone who wanted others to believe that to be the case. He’d never stopped to question it. Indeed, nobody was ever truly as they seemed. This must be why she always pulled her hood up, and buckled her armor to her neck, so nobody would see…

Realizing how much of her privacy he had just violated, Vilkas turned away in utter shame. He shouldn’t be looking at her, especially not after the dream he’d just had. Guilt manifested as a cold sweat on his palms, and his stomach lurched— he needed to get out of there. Quickly grabbing up his gear, he staggered out of the inn and let the cold morning air fill his lungs. 

The snow had stopped at some point during the night. It left the world covered in a soft, white blanket, the tranquil silence now crushed under the weight of his heavy boots. Peace would always elude him, Vilkas thought grimly as he trudged down to the quiet lake the inn was perched on. At least he’d managed to not throw up.

The Orc from the previous night stood on the end of the dock, still holding his book. The two men greeted each other with silent nods as Vilkas walked down to the water’s edge. It was frigid, but he splashed his face with it anyway, drinking handfuls of it down. He was trying both to dispel the dull hangover, and wash the bad dream from his mind and mouth.

Sadly, this feeling wasn’t new to him. The terrors plagued him on an almost daily basis. Visions from Hircine, punishment for refusing to accept his so-called gift. Every night he would anxiously await the poison the Daedric Prince would drip into his ear, and every morning he’d wake, wracked with shame and disgrace. The result was a life of fitful, disturbed sleep, anxiety, and never feeling truly rested. 

_“Bad dreams are only dreams,”_ Kodlak had told him as a pup. Gods, how he wished that were true. Deep down, Vilkas knew the visions were a premonition of what would happen if he lost control. They made him afraid of himself, of what he was capable of. The ugly truth was that a part of him would revel in it— the part he’d spent his whole life trying to suppress. This was why he could never lose control. There was too much at risk. 

He caught his reflection in the pond just then, pale blue eyes staring out from the dark circles underneath them. _Weary, haggard, pathetic._ He splashed the image away with disgust. In the sobering light of morning it was always easy to turn his hatred inwards.

Standing, he saw that the sun had crept above the horizon. If they were to make it to the Silver Hand camp before sundown, they’d have to get a move on. 

Walking back to the inn, he saw Hadring and Mindra standing at the door. She looked ready to go, her hood back up and bow slung over her shoulder. The Innkeeper handed her a small pack of what looked to be provisions, and she gave him a long hug before bouncing down the stairs towards him. Vilkas raised a hand to return Harding’s enthusiastic wave, and the two Companions set off towards the mountains. 

“You’re quite the early riser! How did you sleep?” she asked as they made their way up the road. 

“Fine,” Vilkas snapped. The night’s vision had been so graphic it almost felt like a memory, and when he looked at her it all came flooding back. How he had held her down and forced himself on her, how she had cried when he entered her, and tore into her flesh, and how he’d reveled in every obscene second of it... 

Punishing himself was the only thing he had control over. If this was truly what he was capable of, his only choice was to keep her as far from him as possible, no matter how much it hurt. At least then she’d be safe. 

They walked on in silence, the Bosmer staying a few steps behind him. He had made it clear that he didn’t want to talk, and he was grateful she wasn’t pushing the matter. There was no way he could even look at her right now, let alone speak. 

Vilkas led the way, unfolding the map Kodlak had given him to find the trail that would lead them to the mountain pass. The ground had begun its incline, and he felt a warm heat in his thighs begin as they started the hike.

It was easy going at first, almost pleasant. Vilkas had never been this far north, and he marveled inwardly at the dramatic landscape. Arriving at a rocky outcrop, they paused to scout the area as much as admire the view. He nodded through the trees below them, “Pack of wolves down there. Keep an eye out.” 

“They’re not after us,” she pointed at a harried deer further away. Vilkas scoffed. Of course she had to be right— then she added, “but you’re right, we should be careful. The last thing we want is to draw attention to ourselves.” 

He grumbled to himself and they kept climbing. The air was strained between them, but Vilkas didn’t have anything to say. Pushing her away came naturally at this point, and he fell easily back into his old habits. 

As the trees started to thin and the trail became more rugged, she finally broke the tension. “I can’t help but feel like you’re trying to punish me,” she said, her breath huffing lightly.

“Well, I’m not,” replied Vilkas.

“Speak to me then,” she retaliated, “I must have done something to upset you so much, or you wouldn’t be acting like—” 

“Like what? Like I simply don’t feel like talking?” 

“Like I was your enemy,” she sighed, her short legs working hard to keep pace with him, “I’ve spent so many years drifting from place to place, and I never felt like I belonged anywhere. That is, until the day I arrived at Jorrvaskr. Joining the Companions was like,” she paused to find the right words, then finished, “...like finding my family.”

Vilkas said nothing to this, and kept walking, so she reached out an arm and spun him to face her. He was on the higher ground and practically towered over her, but she spoke to him like he was a petulant child.

“I don’t want to give that up, but I’ll have to if you can’t accept me as one of your own. I respect you too much to force my place in your guild against your wishes,” she said, still holding on to his arm, “All I ask is that you give me the courtesy of telling me what I’ve done to offend you so much,” she never raised her voice, but he thought if they had been anywhere else she would have been yelling.

“Mindra,” Vilkas started, “It’s not you—,” but she finished his sentence for him.

“Oh, I’ve heard that one before,” she laughed bitterly, her hand moving to her neck. He knew it was an involuntary response, triggered by a powerful memory. Vilkas felt a white hot heat slowly creep into his cheeks from the guilt that he had seen that secret part of her. 

“If you’ve heard it before, then maybe it actually is you then,” his words were designed to cut deep, and by her crestfallen expression he guessed that it worked. “Maybe it’s best that you go,” his heart ached as he spoke, but he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her— ironic though it was he was hurting her anyway. 

Now his eyes were finally opened to how precious Mindra truly was to him. In fact, Vilkas could clearly see that he’d been drawn to the Bosmer since she first set foot in their mead hall. Instead of giving in to his affections, Vilkas had hardened his heart. Hircine was quick to reveal the truth of his desires, and after that he’d stamped out every drop of fondness and yearning he had for her.

At first, his plan had been to make her hate him. From the day she joined the guild, Vilkas had tried to inflict such malice and contempt on her that it would drive her away from Jorrvaskr and the Companions forever. Now though, his instinct was to protect her, and the only way to do that was to keep her as far from him as possible. Kodlak must have known how this trip would change him— the Harbinger never did anything without a reason. As sick as it made him feel, he was back to his original plan. Vilkas turned and started back up the trail. 

_It was for the best_ , he told himself, even though he didn’t believe it.

Mindra walked behind him, quietly sniffling. Vilkas cursed himself. He wished he could take his words back, to tell her that she was wanted, and that he was the one who wanted her. He should get down on his knees and beg her to stay— but he had made his choice. You can’t unring a bell. 

The skies darkened with the clouds of an impending blizzard as they entered the mountain pass. All was quiet— even the bears they passed didn’t rouse from their slumber.

Soon snow began to fall again. Thick heavy chunks floated down in sheets, making visibility difficult. Vilkas was thankful for the cover, annoying as it was to walk through. The blanket muffled their sound and covered their footprints, erasing any proof that they had ever been there. 

Without warning, he held up his hand. Mindra came to an abrupt stop behind him, an arrow already nocked on her bowstring. They heard a strange crunching noise up ahead, like sheets of ice snapping apart. 

“Ice wraiths,” Vilkas whispered to her. He had never seen one before, but he knew them from the bestiaries he read. Their spectral forms were barely visible, twisting and turning as they danced in the storm. He looked back to Mindra, wanting to share the sublime the sight of it, but she was already making her way up the steep cliff directly on their left. 

As sure-footed as a mountain goat, she deftly picked her way up the rocky face of the crag. Vilkas was nonplussed—The Bosmer must know he couldn’t climb, especially in his heavy armour. Did she want him to deal with the wraiths alone? His anger was quickly replaced with heartache as he recalled the words he’d said to her. She had every right to leave him behind. By the time he’d finished off these wraiths, she’d be long gone. Out of life forever.

Vilkas curled his fingers around the hilt of his greatsword. Normally he would be excited to test his mettle against a new foe, but today his heart wasn’t in it. He took one step forward into the snow, waiting for the right moment to strike— but it never came.

A sharp whistle cut through the storm. Startled, Vilkas looked back to the cliff in time to see a rope drop down over the rocks. Through the heavy snow, he could just make out Mindra standing at the top. She was waving, and Vilkas couldn’t help but smile. 

Scaling the stone wall wasn’t easy, but he managed it thanks to her. He felt like an idiot for thinking she would be so vindictive. Truly, he didn’t deserve her. By the time he neared the top, she was pulling on the rope with all of her strength. With a final heave, Vilkas hoisted himself up, nearly falling on top of her as he tumbled forward onto the snow. Arms sore and fingers throbbing, he panted, “Thanks.” 

“I almost left you to the Wraiths,” she said jokingly, though she wasn’t smiling, “but I promised Kodlak I’d look out for you.” 

Vilkas made to say something, but Mindra raised a hand.

“Please let me say this. I have to tell you now, or I never will. Vilkas… I’m not going to run off. I gave my word that I’d see this through, and I will. After we get home I’ll—,” her voice hitched, and Vilkas knew her heart was broken, “I mean, when we get back to Jorrvaskr I’ll pack up and go. Until then I’m still a Companion, and you will treat me as such. Those are my terms.” 

“Mindra…,” he started. He didn’t know what else to say, he just knew needed to hear her name. The Bosmer wasn’t listening though. Her black eyes stared past him, into the storm.

“Look over there,” she whispered.

In the distance through the snow stood Fort Fellhammer. It was a grim, impending stronghold that dominated the surrounding landscape. They both stood silently, thinking about the night that lay ahead. So much rested on stealing those plans— the future of the Companions was on their shoulders.

“If we make our way down the side here,” Mindra nodded at a steep path that descended down the western face of the cliff, “we’ll have time to hide out and get some strength back before we make our next move.” 

“Good plan,” Vilkas said, opening his map. “There should be...,” he paused, searching the area, “Here. A hunter’s camp,” he pointed the mark out to her. “We will rest there.” 

With a nod from Mindra he folded up the map, and they slowly made their way down the other side of the mountain. He felt good that they were back on speaking terms again, at least.

Mindra went ahead of him, easily finding her way down the craggy, snow-covered path. Vilkas didn’t mind— Bosmers were notoriously good scouts. By the time he had reached the bottom, she had already located and secured the camp. They still had a few hours before sunset, but the clouds were so thick it was as dark as dusk already.

The tent was nestled under a low rocky overhang, sheltered for the most part from the elements. This was as good as it was going to get— even on a clear day they wouldn’t have lit a fire for fear of giving away their location. Mindra unhooked the flap and crawled inside, motioning for him to join her.

“You can’t stay out there,” she said, and he knew it.

They could still see their breath inside the heavy tent, but he could already feel it warming up just by virtue of their body heat. It was a snug fit, but he was secretly happy for the chance to be so close to her. While Vilkas lit a small lantern, she pulled out the food Hadring had given them- a wedge of hard cheese and an assortment of dried meats and berries. She smiled at him as they ate, but there was a sadness behind it that Vilkas knew he was the cause of. 

He unfolded the blueprint of Fort Fellhammer, looking for a way to get both of their minds off the mammoth in the room. 

“So. How are we going to get in? We can’t exactly storm the front gates,” Vilkas said, pushing his black hair behind his ear as they examined the fortress layout Kodlak had given them. 

“If there’s one thing I know, there’s always a rear entrance,” she said, pointing at the back wall. “Here, the garbage chute. Or possibly here,” she pointed again, “the latrine.” Vilkas pulled a face. “It’s not pleasant, but it’s possible.” She pressed on, “Once we’re in, the captain’s quarters shouldn’t be hard to find.”

“My gold is on this tower. Or the keep,” Vilkas looked up at her. 

“Exactly,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “When we get inside, you act as a look-out. I’ve got a set of lock picks, in case we need to crack a safebox—“

“So you’re a bard and a thief now? How many jobs have you had?” Vilkas laughed. 

She laughed and shook her head. “It was only a matter of time before it came up,” she said ruefully, “You might as well know. I joined the Bard’s college in Solitude after a job with the Thieves Guild went, ah... tits up, shall we say. After that, I needed to put as many miles between myself and Riften as possible.” Her smile fell slightly, “That’s where I got...,” she paused, her hand raising to her neck again, “my leathers.” 

Vilkas couldn’t blame her for not trusting him with the truth, not after the things he’d said to her. “Aah, I knew I recognized your armour from somewhere,” he said, trying to keep the mood light.

“Yeah. Guess I just can’t let it go,” she said, folding up the maps. “Why don’t we try and get some shut-eye. We can hit the fort after midnight. With any luck, some of the guards will be asleep on their watch.” 

Vilkas agreed. That gave them about six or seven hours to rest. They were both exhausted from the hike, they couldn’t afford any mistakes.

She pulled back the bedroll, “I know you can’t stand me, but I suggest you get in. We’ll conserve more heat this way.” Vilkas wanted to protest but he knew that she, as usual, was right. 

He managed to take off his bulky armor in the cramped lodging and climbed in, facing away from her. When she pressed against his back he felt a pang of regret. This was all he ever wanted, and he had ruined it. His heart spilled over with the ache to tell her, to let her know...

“I don’t hate you, you know,” he said, trying not to let the choke in his voice show.

“Vilkas, you don’t have to—,” she started, but he cut her off. 

“No. I’ve been an ass, and you deserve an apology,” he took a breath, “I’m sorry. Not just for what I said today, but for how I’ve acted.”

She curled up closer to him as she spoke, her hands tucked under her chin, “And I accept, but it really isn’t necessary. I know why you said those things. I understand how you feel.” 

“You could never know how I feel,” he whispered.

Mindra put her arm on his shoulder and turned him gently to look at her. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight as she searched his face. 

“No, I do. Everything was fine until I showed up. Then Kodlak takes me into his confidence, asks me for help… It left you out. I thought if I just ignored your hurt feelings you would come to understand that I wasn’t trying to take your place in the guild. I was stubborn and arrogant, and I ended up screwing it all up,” she took a breath. “As usual.” 

“Mindra, that’s not—,” he started, but it was her turn to interrupt. 

“There’s something else. Something Kodlak shared with me in confidence. He made me promise not to tell you, but it’s been slowly eating away at me,” she placed her hand on his chest. “I know I swore an oath to him, but I always thought you had the right to know. I had planned to tell you after all this, but in case something happens in there,” she paused, searching his face before saying, “Vilkas, Kodlak is dying.” 

The words hit him like a sack of stones. When he finally found his voice, all he could ask was, “What…?” 

“It’s the Rot. He contracted it the month before I joined. He kept it from you because he knew you would worry,” she spoke sadly, “He thinks of you as his son, you know.” 

Vilkas couldn’t believe it. The Rot— it was impossible! But even as he thought it, he knew it had to be true. The sallow skin, the loss of strength, the milky eyes… He choked on his words, “I… I should have seen it. Should have realized…” 

“You had no way of knowing,” she shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Vilkas. Please, don’t tell him I told you. Betraying his trust is the hardest decision I’ve had to make in a long time.” 

He would never give her away. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, feeling a surge of respect and gratitude for this tiny Bosmer. She had done nothing but act with kindness and honor, and in return he had punished her, he saw that now. Vilkas wished he could take it all back— take back all the pain he had ever caused her, all of the undue shit the world had ever heaped on her. 

“I’m sorry for everything,” was all he managed to say, and he wrapped the Bosmer in his bulky arms. He didn’t even care if she could hear how hard his heart was beating. 

“Does this...,” she murmured into his chest, “Does this mean I can stay?” 

“Yes,” he breathed, “Stay with me,” and with that he leaned in and kissed her. 

Her lips were hesitant at first, but soon she opened for him, pushing her tongue into his mouth. She ran her fingers through his thick black hair as he nibbled on her lip, his passion quickly mounting. A nagging voice in his head told him this was a bad idea, but he ignored it. That voice had led him down a path of isolation and pain, and he was done listening to it. 

Vilkas blinked his tears away and buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent. Yes, he was sad about Kodlak, but it was more than that. There was relief, joy and pain, sin and regret, hunger and release. It was like a dam inside of him had burst and all of the emotions he kept locked up were suddenly pouring out. He kissed her again, hot and fervent, with a yearning she must have felt too. 

He pushed her hood back and held her to him, her lips just as aggressive as his. She slid her hand up under his black tunic, feeling along his stomach and chest. As they kissed she played with his nipple, biting down hard on his lip. She was as hungry for this as he was. 

Vilkas desperately worked to undo the top few buckles of her leathers, tearing them open and biting down on the side of her exposed neck. As his teeth raked over her soft skin she gasped, and the sound sent a shiver down his spine. His tongue moved in circles as he kissed her, sucking so hard he knew it would leave a mark. Grabbing a fistful of his hair she pulled his head back. 

“I need you,” she whispered, staring at him. Vilkas managed a low growl as he pressed his hand up hard between her legs, grabbing her by the cunt. He wanted her to know what was coming, and she let out a whine. If his cock wasn’t hard before, now it was positively aching.

The tent was heating up fast. Mindra fumbled with the rest of her buckles, freeing herself of her leathers as quickly as she could. They tore off their shirts, a difficult feat in such a small space. The scene was almost comical, and they both felt giddy as they kicked off their remaining clothes. Finally naked, Vilkas rolled on top of her, holding himself up to look at her in the flickering light of the lantern. 

Her pale hair was splayed out on the bedroll as she watched him from those dark, sphinxlike eyes. Tracing her lips with his fingers, they parted with desire for him. He let her lick them, then softly groaned as he moved them in her mouth. The way she sucked at them made his head spin. 

Moving his hand to her neck, he ran his fingers along the long, thin scar. His black hair brushed against her as he lowered himself to gently kiss across it. He felt her breath hitch in her throat as he caressed her with his tongue. He wanted her to know that nothing like that would ever happen again. Not on his watch. 

The Bosmer ran her hand through his hair as he cupped one of her breasts. They were larger than he’d expected, full tear-drops with dark blush nipples that hardened in the air. He pressed his thumb in circles around it, pinching it and watching her respond before moving his hand down the rest of her body. Her trim waist led into round, wide hips. The leathers she wore had belied all of her curves.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hand pressing on her mound. He watched her face as he dipped his middle finger between her lips, feeling the hot liquid coat him as he rubbed her clit. Fuck, she was so wet already. She tilted her head back and bit her lip knowing they couldn’t make noise, but a quiet moan escaped her nonetheless.

The sound compelled him to kiss her breasts, taking one of her nipples into his mouth. He sucked on it, feeling her sensitive bud pull between his lips. She held his head there, her breathing heavy as she started to grind her hips against his hand. Dipping his finger into her, he marveled at how tight she was before pushing a second one inside. Through it all he never took his eyes off her, watching the desire spread across her face as he moved inside of her. 

Grunting, he pulled his fingers out to lick her nectar off of them. She joined him, licking his hand, lips, and tongue. He knew she tasted herself, and the thought of it drove him crazy.

Her scent, her musk, her taste— it was all intoxicating. Vilkas wanted more, but he couldn’t wait. Right now he needed to be inside her. The Bosmer seemed just as impatient as her fingers wrapped around his cock, eyes widening when she felt the size of him.

“By Yismir, that’s impressive,” she breathed. He growled, knowing she was happy with it. His exhale was almost a snarl as she ran her hand up and down its length, before finally positioning him at her entrance. She was dripping, and it made him want her even more. As he felt his head part her lips, she brushed back his hair with one hand and looked into his eyes.

“If you don’t want to…” she started.

“Mindra,” he whispered, “I would forsake all of Sovngarde if it meant spending just one night with you.” Her only response was a soft moan as he pushed his cock slowly into her.

There were no words to describe the sensation he felt as she took him in. It transcended the physical— this was an emotional ecstasy. He moved slowly, savouring each inch he pushed inside of her. She was so tight, he held himself back to give her time to adjust to his size. The Bosmer gasped as she lay beneath him, his arms on either side of her head as he eased his shaft slowly in and out. He wanted to surround her, to give her everything she’s ever wanted, to finally make her his. 

Wrapping her legs around him, Mindra raised her hips, urging him deeper. With a groan he bottomed out, still somehow wanting more. He slowly pumped his length rhythmically out, then back in, hearing her breath hitch with every thrust into her tight, wet core. The pleasure was rapturous, and trying to control himself was sheer agony. 

Almost as if she’d read his mind, the Bosmer grabbed a handful of his hair and kissed him roughly on the mouth. “Damn it, Vilkas,” she hissed as she paused for a breath, “can’t you see I need you to fuck me?” A wolfish smile played at the corner of his lips. That was what he needed to hear.

He drove into her then, holding her arms down with his. He would do anything she asked, give her everything he had if only it meant she would cum. Angling his thrusts up, he aimed to find that spot in her core that would undo her. His cock throbbed when she tightened around him, and he knew he had hit his mark. She was trying to stay quiet, but her nails on his back and heavy gasps told him what her voice couldn’t. 

As she tensed harder around his shaft, Vilkas increased his pace. He held the Bosmer down and dominated her, willing her to know that every inch of him belonged only to her. As she began to shake under him he pressed his mouth to hers to stifle her cries. She came then, long and hard, his cock and his tongue both moving inside of her. He groaned as she shuddered under him, her core tightening around his cock as the waves of her climax rolled over her. She had made him hers.

When he finally released her arms, she wrapped them around his neck. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that,” she whispered between breaths, “for a long time.”

He chuckled at that, and kissed her. “I know how you feel,” he said as she held his head in her hands. Her hips were gently rocking up to him as she traced circles on his neck with her tongue. Gods, He didn’t want to pull out of her, but he knew he’d have to sooner or later. 

“We should get some rest,” he murmured. He would take care of himself later when she wasn’t around.

Taking a peek outside, she smiled, “We have time. It’ll be another hour before it’s fully dark.” Then in one quick motion she hooked her leg around his, shifting his weight out from under him.

“What are you—,” was all Vilkas could get out before the Bosmer had him on his back. He found himself still inside her as she straddled him with her powerful legs. Truly, she was a dangerous sparring partner. 

She took control. Placing her hands on his broad chest, she began to ride him. All thoughts of sleep vanished as she slid up and down his length. His pulse quickened and he bit his lip, throbbing with every push. He saw her mouth open as she closed her eyes, and he knew in that instant he could make her cum again.

Grabbing her ass, he squeezed as she rolled her hips. She was lithe and supple, and every move made him groan under her. He thrust his hips upwards, wanting more, deeper, harder. Again he felt her walls squeeze him tight as he drove hIs length into her. She was leaking. Her juices seeped out, coating his shaft and balls in a visciuous mess. He reached up and grabbed her breasts as they hung above him, letting out a feral grunt with each push.

Vilkas felt his mind slip as he gave himself over to his carnal urges. The rest of Skyrim fell away; all that remained was Mindra. He strained against the exquisite pleasure as he drove his cock home. 

There was only one thing on his mind, and it was an animal desire: she was his, and he was going to mark her.

From behind the Bosmer a shadow rose up, unfurling itself into the shape of a man with a stag’s head. Vilkas stared in horror. _No, not now—_ but he knew it was too late. He was helpless to stop, to cry out, to do anything but keep fucking the Bosmer’s tight, sopping cunt. The rapture and the terror mounted in equal measure as she came again, harder this time, shaking on top of him as he stuffed her full.

He felt her release and growled. The noise came from a place he didn’t recognize, yet it was he who had made it. It was a wanton sound, bestial and primitive. 

Mindra opened her eyes and looked down, still shuddering around him. As her vision came into focus she saw Vilkas for what he truly was, eyes widening as she understood the nature of the beast whose cock she had just cum for. 

Before she had a chance to flee, he grabbed her arms in his heavy, clawed hands, holding her down on him. A long, red tongue ran over his fangs as she struggled in vain against his massive size. She was his prey, and he wasn’t going to let her escape.

Vilkas could see what was happening from behind the beast’s eyes. Frantically, he tried to fight it, to regain control— but it was too late. He watched helplessly as his mind was eclipsed by the monster. 

The last thing he saw before he slipped off the edge was Hircine watching from the darkness. The hunt had begun.


	3. An Answered Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something special about werewolves in this story, it’s definitely not canon or safe for work!! Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough! ;) This was also the first time I've written action scenes! Hopefully they read clearly, and that nobody minds a little blood. I had a lot of fun writing from Mindra's POV, she's become very real in my mind and I wanted to dig into her personality and background a little more! Hope you enjoy~~

Mindra closed her eyes and came for the second time that night. Vilkas felt incredible. The way he moved inside of her, the way he touched her— one minute tender, loving, and the next, forceful, demanding, and rough. He seemed to sense exactly what she wanted and how she needed it, and it made her unable to resist. Mindra knew from the moment she’d laid eyes on the steely eyed Nord that she was going to fall for him, but she hadn’t counted on how hard. 

A deep growl pulled her back from the shudders of her climax. She looked down, her head still in a fog as Vilkas continued to thrust up into her. His teeth were bared in a snarl, and he was grabbing her ass so hard she knew it was going to bruise. He held her down on his cock, mercilessly pumping his length inside her. Mindra moaned as she saw he wasn’t going to stop— his blue eyes were vacant and staring right past her. 

He made another noise just then, a deep reverberating rumble. She began to worry as he bared his teeth at her— was it her imagination or were they getting sharper? The hair on his chest grew thicker as he continued to drive into her cunt. The Bosmer watched in horror as the man she was falling in love with transformed into a wolf before her very eyes. 

His hands on her body grew heavy, hairy and clawed, and his handsome face stretched and distorted itself into a wolf’s snout. Even his cock— _Gods!_ She could feel it growing inside of her, stretching her apart. At her whimper, his long, red tongue licked his glistening fangs. He was salivating. Mindra tried to move off him, but the beast grabbed her arms and held her down as he continued to savagely fuck her. 

_Of course he’s a bloody werewolf,_ Mindra thought to herself. She’d heard gossip around Whiterun about the Companions, but hadn’t paid it any mind. Now she was finding out the hard way just how true those rumors actually were. 

As brutal as he was, the Bosmer found herself craving more. Yes, making love to a beast was depraved, but this was _Vilkas._ A part of her was curious about this change in him, and she found herself moaning as he pummeled her, allowing him to ravage her in his new wolven form. Perverse as it may be, she wanted the wolf to mark her, to mate with her, to pump her full of his seed.  
  
Her whines turned into desperate cries, and the wolf responded with a howl. His claws were digging into her skin, and his jaws snapped in the air with a terrible sound. Mindra knew she might not survive this night if she didn’t do something, and soon. Poor Vilkas would be torn apart with guilt if that happened. She had to get away, for both of their sakes.

Willing her body to submit to her will, she positioned her legs so her feet rested flat on either side of his hips. She took a deep breath, flexed, and kicked herself off. The momentum of it launched her out of the tent, and sent her barreling into the snow outside. 

The cold air hit her like a stone wall, momentarily knocking the wind out of her. Hearing the wolf barking from inside the tent, she regained herself quickly. He was shredding the leather into ribbons, and she clamored to her feet as he clawed himself free. 

Standing on his hind legs, the beast towered above her. She stood shivering in the snow before him, watching his glowing eyes in the fading light of dusk. He snorted, his hot breath puffing a cloud of smoke into the freezing air. For a moment neither of them moved. Mindra knew he was lost to her now, but she still couldn’t help but feel he was still in there somewhere, watching from behind those pale blue eyes.

Without warning the wolf lunged. She turned and tried to run, but he grabbed her ankle and pulled her down, dragging her back towards him. Kicking, she turned over her shoulder and shouted at him, “Vilkas, _no!!_ It’s me!” but she knew she was yelling at an animal. His massive tongue curled as he snarled, snapping his teeth. Then she saw it.

Directly under his massive, erect length stood a second, smaller phallus. It was lupine in shape, bulbous, and tapered at the tip. The red, bestial member protruded out from a hairy shaft at its base, hard and glistening. 

_Two cocks?_ Gods, no wonder he was so pent up and frustrated all the time. Mindra gulped, and looked over her shoulder to his snarling face as he began to drool. She might have bitten off more than she could swallow. 

Lifting herself onto her hands and knees she struggled to get away, but his hold on her leg was too strong. The werewolf effortlessly yanked her back to the ground and mounted her, unceremoniously thrusting his bestial cock inside her still-dripping cunt.

She cried out— half in fear, half in rapture. The bulge in his length hit against her spot as he plunged it into her core. She could feel its inhuman shape with every thrust, and the feeling drove her mad with ecstasy. It was an obscene, vulgar decadence that she hadn’t known before this night, never even considered— and she loved it.

His pace was fast, feral, and she lifted her ass to him in submission. The larger of his two cocks rubbed between her cheeks, dangerously close to her puckering hole. 

The Bosmer knew she was courting death, but the salacious pleasure of his wolven dick kept clouding her mind. One second she would try feebly to escape, the next she was writhing in need, all the while held captive by the beast. She was on the verge of tears. This wasn’t how she wanted it to end, but he was too ferocious, too strong. Finally, she fully succumbed to the wolf.

Just then, something whizzed by above her head. She didn’t register what it was until it happened again, and she heard Vilkas whine in pain. His hulking cock suddenly pulled out of her, as he released his hold and reeled back. Mindra twisted around to see what had happened. An arrow was lodged in his shoulder, and as she watched another hit him in quick succession. 

Mindra clocked where the shafts had come from, and rolled to the remains of the tent. In one swift movement she grabbed her bow, nocked an arrow, and let it fly— 

“Augh!” someone yelled through the snow. Mindra couldn’t help but smile. She loved being good at what she did. 

Hearing a snarl, she looked back in time to see Vilkas rip the bolts out of his arm and leap forward into the storm. Not stopping to think, Mindra took off running in the opposite direction. From the darkness behind her, all she heard were screams.

Silver Hand scouts. _Probably heard the damn noise we were making,_ she thought wryly. The Bosmer cursed herself for getting carried away, but then remembered ruefully how good it had felt. Vilkas truly was an incredible lover, in both of his forms— but he was deadly, too. She could hear him eviscerating the scouts as she tried to get her bearings. 

There was no way to know how many more of the Silver Hand were out there in the dark. Mindra only hoped the scouts hadn’t had the chance to alert the rest of Fort Fellhammer to their presence. At the moment she was naked and freezing, holding only a bow and a single arrow. 

“Shit,” she murmured, her heart beating in her chest. She had to prioritize. 

“It’s time to die, dog!” shouted a voice from behind her. She turned to see a Silver Hand soldier running at her through the snow, aiming to gut her with his short sword. The Bosmer easily side-stepped as he lunged, and he fell forward hitting his head on a rock with a crack.

A second soldier wasn’t far behind the first. She grabbed a dagger from the fallen man’s belt, ducked a giant axe, and thrust the blade up between the man’s ribs. Hot blood spurted out from the wound, steaming as it hit the air. The soldier gasped as the blade pierced his lung, then fell to the ground gurgling. 

She strode back over to the first soldier just as he was coming to. Without mercy, the Bosmer pulled her leg up and crushed his windpipe with a quick stomp of her heel. It was a brutal business, but she knew that anyone who saw her tonight couldn’t be allowed to live.

Vilkas howled somewhere nearby. As soon as he was done with the scouts, the wolf would be back on her trail. Her pussy still throbbed from the pounding he’d given her, and she knew he had only just gotten started. With that thought, she ran off into the night. 

Another arrow flew past her, and she scampered for cover. In rapid sequence, two more arrows hit the tree she was crouching against. Her heart sank. The situation was near hopeless. Her feet were starting to go numb, and her body was beginning to ache. Soon her adrenaline would run out. If the Silver Hand didn’t get her, the hypothermia would. Best case scenario, Vilkas would find her, and she’d become dinner for the man she was falling for. Mindra smiled grimly at that. 

However, the Bosmer was a born fighter. She’d fought to survive in the streets of Riften, fought her way up the ranks in the Thieves Guild, fought for her life when a traitor cut her throat— and she sure as hell wasn’t about to stop now. 

Mindra glanced out from her cover. There were at least six of them. She saw a torchlight and quickly let her last arrow fly. The Bosmer knew they’d be on her soon, the least she could do was make it difficult for them. The light went out as the man let out a sharp cry, then was silent.

The darkness didn’t deter them as much as she hoped it would. The soldiers hit their shields and blades together as they formed a line and advanced towards her position. They were trying to scare her out. She threw her bow in frustration.

Gripping the silver dagger in both hands, Mindra looked up to the sky. She had never prayed before, but this seemed like as good a time to start as any.

Y’ffre was the god of the Bosmer, but she didn’t think he’d listen since she’d never observed the Green Pact. Arkay would probably just let her die. Talos seemed like he’d be fun at parties, but right now? Right now, she was a Companion. And the Companions prayed to Hircine. 

Calling on a Daedric god at the best of times was a dubious practice. A lot could go wrong, but seeing how bad things already were, it was worth a shot. 

“Lord Hircine,” she murmured. It seemed like an appropriate way to start, “I must look like a trapped rabbit right about now, so it’s a little awkward for me to be asking you this.” The banging was getting louder. “But if you could just help me out a little bit here, I’ll take care of the rest.”

She hadn’t expected anything to happen, but was disappointed with the silence all the same. She went on, desperate for something, anything, “You lead the Companions on their hunts, and as a Companion I will owe you, big time. I swear to you, I will not only make the Silver Hand suffer, but I will find a way to venerate you in the most—,”

Mindra’s prayer was interrupted as a longsword sliced through the air above her. She ducked, and it lodged itself in the bark of the tree with a thunk. As the Silver Hand struggled to pull it free, she flipped the dagger around in her hand and gave the soldier two quick stabs— one in the groin and one in the abdomen. He buckled, and she grabbed his head in both hands, giving it a sharp twist.

No sooner had she snapped his neck than another man ran up, hitting her with his shoulder and tackling her to the ground. _These assholes just kept coming!_ He raised his blade in the air as he straddled her, aiming for her throat. A dagger was no match for the sword, but she managed to parry the blade so it shot into the ground next to her head. 

“Killing you will make an excellent story,” the man snarled.

“Oh, go rot in Oblivion,” she grunted back, kneeing the Silver Hand in his nuts. 

Whipping her hand up, she stabbed him in the neck, blood splattering all over her face, neck and breasts. With a lurch, she rolled the dying man off of her naked body and struggled to her feet.

The cold was making her sluggish and sloppy. By the time she saw the next man running at her, she knew there was no way she could dodge him. She braced for another impact, but it surprisingly never came.

From out of nowhere the werewolf flew in and tackled the charging soldier, knocking him over in a flurry of fur and fangs. Holding the Silver Hand to the ground, it ripped out his jugular with one shake of his massive head. 

Mindra was in awe. As a man, Vilkas was handsome, fierce and impressive— as a wolf he was terrible and magnificent. She watched in wonder as he splattered the snow with the soldier’s dark red blood. If they lived through this, she was going to do her damndest not to screw things up with him.

When. _When_ they lived through this. 

“Screw you, Hircine,” she spat as three more warriors closed in on her. “Lord of the Hunt my—,” but her swear was interrupted as a spray of fire split the sky. 

“Dragon!!” a Silver Hand cried, and all Nine Hells broke loose. 

A deafening roar thundered in Mindra’s ears. She opened her mouth as a man directly in front of her was immolated in a seering spray of flames. The remaining soldiers ran every which way, but if they were trying to fight or escape, she couldn’t tell. Snow melted instantly as the dragon shot another torrent of fire at the ground, catching the trees on fire.

Mindra exhaled as warmth flooded through her body, sending a shudder of comfort down her spine. If this was Hircine’s doing, she had a lot to thank him for. The absurdity of the situation hit her as she stood naked in the forest, covered in blood and clutching a dagger as the dragon’s sulfuric breath warmed her skin.

Near her, Vilkas gorged himself on a fallen Silver Hand. She felt the heat begin to trickle down between her legs as she watched him. There was no doubt about it— the wolf aroused her. There was something so powerful, so sensual about his bestial form, she had to tear her eyes away.

Through the heat of the blaze, she could make out Fort Fellhammer in the distance. The Silver Hand were rallying more troops to fight the dragon. Little did they know they’d find two Companions out here as well.

With a few powerful flaps of its leathery wings, the dragon landed on the ground. Mindra looked on in awe. She’d only seen two dragons in her life, and this was bigger than either of them. Rallying, the Silver Hand attacked as the first wave of reinforcements arrived. It blasted them back, turning several bodies to ash in a swirling inferno. 

Vilkas had finished eating the man’s heart, and perked his head up at the carnage ensuing in front of them. A werewolf was a fearsome creature, but no match for a dragon. Mindra had seen first hand the devastation they were capable of, and knew that this wasn’t going to end well.

“Vilkas, no! Here--!! Come to me!” she shouted at the wolf, trying to draw his attention away. She waved her arms, but the beast only looked at her and snorted, before setting his ears back and charging full tilt at the dragon. 

He wasn’t going to make it. The blast of fire was too hot, too strong. The thought of returning to Jorrvaskr with his charred body flashed through her mind when suddenly—

**_“FUS!!”_ **

The shout was shout so powerful, it sent the poor werewolf tumbling head over heels through the snow. The sound definitely come from her, but Mindra had no idea how she’d made it. It had emanated from deep within her body, reverberating through her very bones as it erupted out.

Confused and reeling, the Bosmer wanted to run to where Vilkas lay, to make sure she hadn’t hurt him. To her relief, the wolf got up and galloped away into the night, tail between his legs. 

She exhaled, and turned back to fight with steely resolve. Hircine had come through after all. The weight of the silver dagger felt good in her hand, and as she gripped its hilt she knew the tables had turned in her favor. 

The first thing she had to do was make sure no stragglers escaped. If they were lucky, anyone who saw them would be killed by the dragon, but she couldn’t leave it up to chance. 

No sooner had the plan formed, than she saw two Silver Hands fleeing back to the fortress. Without a second thought Mindra took off after them. The heat from the fire had brought her back to life, spurring her on. At this point, she didn’t even care if the dragon saw her. She’d lead it straight to their compound and burn the whole damn thing to the ground. 

Mindra caught up with the first soldier easily. She flung herself on him, slitting his throat as they rolled together down a short hill, then springing back up as his body lay twitching at the bottom. She kept running, not missing a beat.

The next kill was harder. She regretted having no protection when he turned and savagely drew his blade.  
  
“I don’t know if I should fuck you, or kill you!” he laughed as he slashed at her. Hissing, she jumped back. “Maybe I’ll do both,” he snarled, the fire reflected in his eyes.  
  
Mindra parried his first several attacks, but he was aggressive. With a powerful swing, the man knocked the dagger from her grasp, then immediately thrust forward again. She had no choice but to grab his sword, wincing as the blade cut into her flesh of her hand.  
  
This caught the Silver Hand off-guard. The look on his face told Mindra he clearly wasn’t expecting the complete disregard for her own body. She often surprised opponents with her savage tenacity and the vicious way that she fought. The words of her old guild leader echoed in her memory. “ _You’re too reckless, lass,_ ” his voice said, and the Bosmer's lips curled into a smile. Chaos was her secret weapon. 

She yanked the sword forward, snarling against the pain as the blade twisted deeper into her hand. The soldier stumbled towards her, suddenly off-balance. The man shouted in surprise, then in pain as she slammed her head into his, with a crack so loud she knew his nose was broken. Blood poured from his face, and he dropped his sword as he reflexively put his hands up.  
  
“You crazy fucking bitch!! You’ll pay for that!,” he raged, but Mindra paid no mind.  
  
Dropping to the ground, the Bosmer grabbed her dropped dagger and tripped the Silver Hand before he had a chance to react. She heard him wheeze as he landed hard on his back. He was easy pickings after that. Mindra finished the man off quickly, then turned from the dragon and made her way towards Fort Fellhammer. 

Outside of the large gate, she hid behind a few barrels as another troop of Silver Hand reinforcements ran past to aid their comrades. She listened to them shout as they jogged by. There was no mention of Companions, or Werewolves— the dragon had seen to that.

Mindra counted five guards standing on the ramparts that surrounded the stronghold. Clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, she silently crept through the courtyard towards the studded wooden door. She tried to recall the layout of the building that Vilkas had shown her, but the only thing she could think about was getting out of the cold. At this point, any entrance would do. 

The heavy door swung open easily and the Bosmer ducked inside, thankful to be out of the elements even if it meant being deep behind enemy lines. Armored footsteps sounded on the floor, and she hid in an alcove as more Silver Hand troops hurried past and left through the door she’d just come in through. She had to stifle a gasp as the skin on her back pressed against the freezing stone wall. The next thing she needed to do was find some clothes. 

The inside of Fort Fellhammer was grim. Werewolf heads mounted stuck on stakes lined the halls, and their hairy, headless corpses rotted in cage-filled rooms. Mindra put her hand to her nose to block out the smell. She knew the Silver Hand were enemies of the Companions, but after seeing the gruesome truth for herself, it was clear who the real monsters were. She had a mind to burn the whole fort to the ground, but she stuck to Kodlak’s plan. Well, the tattered remains of the plan, in any case. She kept moving.

The barracks smelled only slightly better than the dungeon. Mindra darted into a room in the living quarters, hoping to find some clothes her size. Most of what she grabbed was too big, but there was no time to be choosy. Pulling on a pair of britches, she suddenly froze as footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. 

Mindra had just enough time to slide herself under one of the beds before a bearded brown-haired soldier burst in the room. She had a clear line of sight on him as he loosened his belt and hurriedly pulled his pants down. Without warning, the man grabbed his erect dick and began to jerk himself off.

Mindra’s eyes widened as she watched him vigorously stroke his shaft. His face was twisted in a grimace as he abused himself, and she found that she couldn’t look away. The man closed his eyes and bit his lip, pulling at his length and groaning. Mindra was disturbed and fascinated all at the same time. _What the hell was this guy doing?_

“Jerkin’ Jurgen!! Are you gettin’ yourself off again?” another Silver Hand called from the hallway.

Jurgen, as he was called, gritted his teeth in response. “I don’t know what it is about battles,” he grunted, “they always make me so- hunff- hard!!”

All at once the man shuddered, and came with a groan. His cum beaded out, dripping down his hand as he squeezed at the head of his cock. Mindra had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. She couldn’t wait to tell Aela about this.

“This happens every time!” the other man called. “Are ya finished yet? We’re gonna miss the fight!”  
  
“Relax! You know I can’t help myself!” Jurgen said, wiping his hand on the pillow of the bed nearest him. He hiked up his pants back up, fastening his belt as he hopped out of the room. Mindra waited for a minute in case he got another sudden urge. When she was sure Jurgen wasn’t coming back, she wriggled her way out from under the bed and finished getting dressed.

The ensemble she had haphazardly selected was too big in almost every way. She grabbed a thick belt to cinch around her waist, tucking the dagger securely into it. The smallest shoes she could find were still large, so she added socks until they were snug. It would have to do. Her new clothes might not be the most flattering, but at least she’d get to keep her toes. 

Taking a few deep breaths, Mindra centered herself. She envisioned her position in relation to the fortress’s keep, drawing out a path in her mind to where she needed to go. So much had gone wrong on this trip, but she was determined to salvage it. She would find those plans, even if it killed her.

Making her way through the rest of the garrison without being seen was simple for the light-footed Bosmer. The Silver Hand were distracted, gearing up to help their comrades. They would have made easy kills, but she wasn’t about to take any unnecessary risks. Especially not when she was so close to getting what they came here for.

The dragon’s ear-splitting roar echoed off the stone walls as she climbed up the stairwell of the keep. She watched through one of the narrow windows as fire lit up the night sky. They were still at it. 

Mindra thought about Vilkas, and hoped he was safe. Her mind flashed back to the unnatural shout that she’d unleashed on the poor beast. The thought of it tugged at her mind as the dragon flew by again, but she knew she was on borrowed time. She would look into the strange shout when she got back home, right now there were too many other things to worry about. Sticking to the shadows, Mindra continued her way up to the captain’s quarters.

The heavy door near the top of the stairs was embellished with wrought iron fittings. “This has to be it,” Mindra thought as she tried the handle. It was locked, but she smiled anyway. Lifting her hand to the side of her head, she pulled out a pair of pins from her hair. _Old habits die hard,_ she thought. She may be a Companion now, but she knew she’d always be a thief at heart. 

No sooner had she begun to crouch down when the door suddenly flew open. Mindra stood up in a flash, straightening out her back as she came face to face with the Silver Hand commander.

 _Gods, why?_ Her hand hovered at her belt, ready to grasp the dagger. Could nothing go right?

“Report?” he barked at her from the doorway. The Commander was a stocky, middle-aged man, with graying hair and a closely-cropped beard. She knew who he was right away— it wasn’t just that his steel plate armor set him apart from the average soldier. It was all in the way he carried himself. He was the type of man who let people know he was in charge without saying a single word.

“Twelve, no- fifteen dead, sir,” Mindra improvised, “and more if we don’t stop it soon.” 

“What about the werewolf?” he snapped. _Shit, what about it?_

“Rumors. It was just a, uh, regular wolf,” the Commander’s eyes narrowed and she quickly added, “But big, sir. Very big. It took out a few men, but don’t worry, we took care of it.” She realized he must know she’d been outside from the blood spatter on her face.

The commander nodded and put a hand on his hip. “Then why are you in here? You should be out fighting!” 

“Well, I had to report to you, sir,” Mindra said. She really wanted this to be over.

“Mm. Right,” he grunted. For a moment she thought she was in the clear, but then he asked, “What’s your name? I don’t remember seeing you before.” 

“Karliah, sir.” She cursed herself for choosing that particular name, but it was the first one that came to her mind. “New recruit. I transferred in this week.” 

“A rookie, eh? In that case,” the commander looked her up and down, “My sword needs sharpening. And my bedpan,” he said as he walked past her, “is full. Empty it.” With that he stomped off down the stairs, leaving Mindra finally alone.

When she was sure he’d gone, Mindra wasted no time ransacking the room. She searched desks, drawers, nightstands, dressers, even tearing apart a small bookcase— but no plans. Were they in another room? Were they ever here at all? Had they really come all this way, only to fail now? 

She looked up at a painting that hung in front of her. It was of the Silver Hand Commander, smugly smiling down at her. In frustration she ripped it off the wall, throwing it to the ground. As it fell forward, she noticed a neat bundle of papers was affixed to the back of the frame. It couldn’t be, could it? But it was. She had found the plans.

“Thank you Hircine,” she said, looking up momentarily. The Bosmer knew she’d owe him for this, and she added it to the growing list of things she’d worry about later.

Grabbing an empty knapsack from beside the desk, she threw the papers into it along with some other notes and letters that looked interesting, and a large purse of gold for good measure. Wincing, she squeezed the wound on her hand and drew the symbol of a bandit clan she knew from the Broken Oar Grotto near Solitude. The Silver Hand would figure out soon enough that they’d been robbed, and she hoped by pointing them in another direction they’d be thrown off the scent for a while. The plan wasn’t fool-proof, but right now she had no better ideas. 

Mindra looked out a window, surveying the ground below. The height of the tower gave her a good view of the surrounding area, and she scanned the snow for Vilkas, but only saw the charred bodies of the Silver Hand.

By now the dragon was flying off into the night, and the soldiers below began to cheer. There wasn’t much time left for an escape. Grabbing the knapsack, the Bosmer left the room, kicking over the bedpan on her way out.

Making her way to the top of the stairs, she soon found a door that led to the upper ramparts. The night outside was cold, dark, and still snowing, and she was thankful that she was wearing clothes. The Fortress was lit with torches, so she could gauge the slope of the walls and the distance to the ground below. 

There were two guards about twenty paces off. They were laughing, and talking loudly about the different ways they would have killed the dragon if it had attacked the fort. Mindra knew they’d go down easy, but she was tired. Tonight she'd pushed her luck as far as it would go, and it was time to cut her losses.

Hopping off the wall, she slid smoothly down a snow-covered buttress, tumbling when she hit the ground. She had got what they’d come for, but things hadn’t exactly gone to plan, and only time would tell if their mission had been worth it. The only thing left for her to do was find Vilkas. Without looking back, she ran off into the night. 

A voice in her head told her Vilkas was still out there, and the thought alone sent a shiver down her spine. She prayed again for his safety, wanting nothing more than to feel his arms around her again.

The memory of how he’d made love to her filled her head, then her breath caught as she recalled his two hard, dripping cocks. He had felt so incredible inside her, and she cursed herself for wanting him as both a man and as a wolf. 

Mindra couldn’t help herself. She wanted him again tonight. 

* * *

The beast moved his hulking, lupine form silently through the trees. His breath was hot and heavy in the cold night air. He sniffed the ground. _Burnt flesh. Leather. Dragonfire. Blood._

He paced in circles until he located the scent he was searching for. The Bosmer’s heady musk was unmistakable, and the smell of her cum still lingered in the air. Lifting his leg, he urinated, marking this area as his before running off, following the scent. 

The hunt excited him. He knew what was waiting at the end of it, and his blood began to pump harder. His chosen mate was strong, but she was willing. And if not, he would make her submit.

He inhaled, and let her essence fill his lungs. The beast had known she would be his from the first time he’d smelled her. Since that day, he had spent countless hours tortured by her scent, howling in Vilkas’s mind, banging on the cage in anger. Now that he was free, he would finally be able to feast.

In his excitement the wolf let out a howl, then took off in a gallop into the darkness. His seed was going to spill tonight. He was going to mark his bride.


	4. The Veneration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day! What better way to celebrate than with a werewolf boyfriend? Hehe, enjoy the smutty chapter~!

The night was cold, dark, and still snowing. Mindra had run until her legs burned, then slowed to a walk when she was sure nobody was following her. She had the vague notion that she was headed south, but she wasn’t certain. The whole night had been one mess after another, and her only plan now was to put as much space between herself and Fort Fellhammer as possible. Then, when she felt she was at a safe distance, she would find a place to hole up for the night— preferably sheltered from the storm. She desperately wanted to look for a Vilkas, but in the storm it would be impossible. The search would have to wait until morning. 

Mindra thought of him as she trudged through the snow, trying to keep her thoughts off how cold it was. She imagined a giant black wolf curled up under an evergreen, his thick fur coat keeping him warm. The scene was so clear in her mind— his body rising and falling with each breath, his pointy ears twitching as he slept. She inserted herself in the image, snuggled against him, secure in his powerful arms. It was a fantasy of course, but it helped her hold onto the hope that he was alive. To think otherwise was, quite simply, unbearable.

The wind whipped her hair around as she blew in her hands to keep them warm. Her left palm ached, and she realized she needed to take care of it before it began to fester. She rubbed some snow into the wound to clean it off. It stung like hell, but the pain helped keep her awake and moving. 

Tired and stumbling, the Bosmer trudged on through the storm. The moons of Nirn passed just enough of their light through the clouds to illuminate the snow-covered ground. The effect was magical, breath-taking and otherworldly, but Mindra didn’t pause to acknowledge it. She kept the mountains directly on her left as she made her way along the rocky path at their base. It wasn’t easy going, but it was better than getting lost and succumbing to the elements. Eventually she found what she had been looking out for— a small opening at the base of one of the rocky cliffs.

Mindra carefully made her way into the small mouth of the cave. Her hands passed over a wooden frame embedded in the rock, and she realized this was probably an old mine. Even better. With any luck it might still be stocked with old supplies.

The old wooden door creaked in protest as she pushed it open. Inside it was still cold, but dry. Mindra felt her way along the wall in the dark, taking extra care of where she placed her feet. Soon she found an old table, possibly a workbench, Feeling around in the dark she was lucky enough to find a flint stone and an old lantern. 

Her hands shook as she gripped the dagger. Scraping the flint against it, she saw sparks and smiled. The dagger was made of steel. She felt around inside the desk for kindling, and grabbed some old papers. Crumpling then into a little bed, she began the tedious task off starting a fire. Hitting a stone against the dagger to get a spark wasn’t her idea of fun, but it wasn’t like she had anything better to do. At the very least, the activity kept her body producing heat, which she desperately needed right now.

After several failed attempts, her shaking hands finally managed to ignite the crumpled sheets of paper with a hesitant flame. She carefully held the burning paper to the lantern’s wick, willing it to catch. The dim light grew into a healthy glow, and soon the desk she was standing over was fully illuminated. She actually laughed when this worked, out of excitement and relief.

Holding the lantern up, she assessed her surroundings, taking stock of things she could use. The mine was definitely abandoned, a perfect place for her to set up camp for the night. She set about lighting a few other lanterns, and gathered a few other supplies she thought might be useful.

She found a comfortable spot near the back of the cavern, and set down the knapsack, Mindra broke apart some old barrels, and managed to make a small campfire on the rocky ground. There wasn’t anything in the way of bedrolls, but she managed to fashion a fairly comfortable nest out of some dusty canvas tarps and pile of bear and wolf pelts. She was incredibly thankful for this, and as the heat from the fire washed through her she exhaled and let herself relax. 

Turning her hand over, she looked at the gash in her palm. It was still bleeding, so she tore strips off her shirt and tightly bandaged it up. She’d get a mender to tend to it back in Whiterun.

Now that she had a moment of respite, she let her mind wander back over the night's events. It had all happened so quickly, she found it difficult to put in order. When she closed her eyes, the first thing she saw was the headless werewolf corpses from the Fellhammer dungeons— an image she knew was going to stick with her for a long time. 

The Bosmer’s thoughts fluttered over to another memory that haunted her, and Karliah’s face appeared in her mind. Mindra knew why she had said her name— Karliah still had a hold on her. She knew a part of her would always belong to her old lover, and she worried she would never truly be free. Time had done its work of dulling the pain of their parting, but she knew that her heart would carry the scars forever.

 _Just like the one on my neck,_ she thought ruefully. Gods, I sure made a mess of that one. 

Leaving Thieves Guild felt like a lifetime ago. So why couldn’t she let it go? The memories tugged at her as she tried to swim away, pulling her down, reminding her of her foolishness and folly. Mindra still dreamt of cold steel slicing into her skin, but she took solace in how much she’d grown since those days in Riften. She was older now, stronger, wiser— a Companion. Her life had purpose, meaning, and she was surrounded with people she cared about. 

_One person in particular,_ thought Mindra, and she placed more wood on the fire. 

Vilkas had sparked something in her she hadn’t felt in a long time. Of course over the years she’d had other lovers, but none of them had enthralled her the way the brooding black-haired Nord did. 

Since the day she’d arrived at Jorrvaskr he had treated her coolly, but under it all Mindra had sensed his heat. She felt inexplicably drawn to him— his intense gaze and constant, inflexible demeanor made her try even harder to seek his approval. She strove to prove herself worthy at every available opportunity, but Vilkas remained unimpressed no matter how clever or capable she had shown herself to be. No matter what she did, Mindra could not move him.

In spite of his cold demeanor, Mindra’s affections for the Nord kept growing. Vilkas was a man of honor. She admired that, along with his intelligence, prowess, and empathy. She’d seen how he would listen patiently when troubles burdened his fellow Companions. And after a hunt, he always gave honor to others. He’d regale the guild with stories of bravery and might, never taking any glory for himself. Vilkas was unmatched in battle, strong and assertive, and devastatingly handsome. Mindra also saw a deep sadness in his eyes— a look she recognized, because it reflected some of her own. 

As much as she’d secretly ached for his touch, Mindra didn’t mind that her feelings were one-sided. In fact, she’d welcomed the unrequited romance. The way he kept her at arm's length meant she was safe from her own heart, unable to repeat the mistakes of her past. Mindra had been free to pine after him without worrying about losing herself. Suddenly though, that had all changed. 

Their first time making love had been an unorthodox revelation. That Vilkas was a werewolf didn’t deter her in the slightest; in fact, the Bosmer was surprised to find that this made him even more attractive to her. As a man he had shown her a stern tenderness unlike any other lover— gentle one minute, forceful and demanding the next. In his arms she felt loved, desired, and safe. The wolf, on the other hand, was pure lust and carnal abandon. He took what he wanted with force, and the danger of it thrilled her. There was no safety in the arms of a beast.

Fearsome as the werewolf was, she’d scared him off with just a shout. The sound had been so loud that it knocked him over, sending him running off like a scared puppy.

Mindra rubbed her head. It hadn’t been a normal shout. In her panic she’d said something— a word, but she didn’t know what it meant. Something about the dragon gnawed at the back of her mind. The Bosmer knew it all fit together somehow, and decided to ask Kodlak about it when she got home. The old Harbinger would know something.

She placed more wood on the fire and sighed. It had been a long day. Easing herself down on the pile of furs, Mindra suddenly froze. Something was watching her. For a moment the Bosmer stayed absolutely still. Then, slowly, she turned around. 

Low, rumbling breaths resonated near the mine’s entrance. In the darkness she could just make out the wolf’s hulking shadow standing in the doorframe, his bright blue eyes fixed on her. Mindra’s heart leapt in her chest and she almost cried out, half in joy, half in terror. Vilkas was alive— and now there was no escaping him.

The beast crept towards her with slow, deliberate steps. Lifting her arms slightly, Mindra tried to signal that she was a friend. He approached the sitting Bosmer with his hackles up, and bearing his teeth, he let out a guttural growl.

Mindra grabbed the dagger and threw it across the room, where it landed with a clatter. She didn’t want to hurt him no matter what transpired, and hoped the sound would distract him long enough for her to make a run for the exit.

Vilkas sniffed the air in the direction that she had thrown the knife, but quickly snapped his head back to her. It was clear by the way his members were swelling that he was in no mood to play fetch. Mindra felt her cheeks flush as she watched them grow, all thoughts of escape suddenly gone from her head.

The beast sniffed at her, his breath hot on her outstretched arms. For a moment she was worried the blood from her bandaged wound might excite him, but Vilkas simply nuzzled her, then began to lick her other hand.

“Is that how you found me?” Mindra whispered as he lapped her hand and arm. “You followed my scent…,” she trailed off. He had hunted her down, like a wolf chasing a wounded deer. She was completely at his mercy.

Against her better judgement, Mindra’s arousal grew as the beast licked her. The sensation was warm and wet as Vilkas slid his tongue between her fingers, down her hand and arm. His fangs glinted in the firelight, and with each low growl she was reminded how easily he could take her life. 

“Vilkas...,” she started, but he snapped at her, bearing his teeth. Lifting a clawed hand, he swiped at the neckline of her shirt and tore it easily open. 

Mindra was stunned into silence, her heart racing as her breasts were suddenly exposed. She felt her nipples harden in the cool air, and she reflexively pulled her arms in to cover them. A chill ran down her spine as a familiar heat began to burn in her core. 

The beast stood up on its hind legs, towering above her. She leaned back on her hands and started to crawl backwards, but he barked and she froze in place. 

From the ground she gazed up at him. His body was more than impressive— powerful muscles rippled under thick, black fur, and his face, though lupine, retained traces of Vilkas. His blue eyes were just as piercing, and she marveled at how handsome he was, even as a wolf. Large, clawed hands curled at his sides, and from his loins two hard cocks jutted out towards her, one on top of the other. Mindra’s heart beat louder in her chest. She knew the veneration Hircine demanded.

The Bosmer sat slowly up until she rested on her knees in front of him. In an instant the beast grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up to his slobbering mouth. She realized too late that she was still covered in dried blood. His mouth opened, and as a warning, he briefly held her neck in his jaws. But Instead of devouring her, the beast began to lick her clean. 

Mindra bared her teeth as she’d seen wolves do in the wild, and Vilkas responded. He lapped at her lips, then pushed his way inside. Their tongues intertwined in a feral kiss, the wolf dominating her mouth and mind. It was in this moment that the Bosmer willingly gave herself over to desire.

The beast slid his tongue down her neck and chest, licking up every trace of dried blood. Mindra’s cheeks were flushed, and she ran her fingers through his coarse, black fur. She wondered if Hircine was watching them.

Opening his jaws, the wolf took her entire breast in his maw. She gasped, and held him tightly as he sucked and slurped at her, running his tongue over her sensitive buds. Her breathing was heavy, and her thoughts were clouded with lust. All she could manage was a low, breathy moan, gasping as his teeth grazed her soft skin.

Vilkas kept his grip firm, coating her breasts with his saliva. She moaned softly as his strong tongue lapped at nipples, and she pushed her breasts together so he could enjoy them both at the same time. Closing her eyes, she felt the slickness form between her legs as he stimulated both of her buds

When the beast finally set her back down, Mindra’s chest was dripping with saliva. Placing his shaft between her breasts, she pushed them together and slid slowly down his length. This pleased the wolf, who let out a low rumble.

The head of his cock was at her lips, and she sucked at it. There was no way she could fit his whole length in her mouth, but she managed the tip and a few inches. The beast was growling in pleasure, and began to pant as she took one shaft in each hand. She worked him over as she licked the underside of his length, her hands moving to investigate the bestial phallus, as curious about it as she was hungry.

Mindra had never seen anything like it. His lupine cock was bright red and obscenely shaped, bulbous and wolf-like. It felt slick to the touch, and precum beaded at its tip as she slid her hands along its length. Lowering herself, she took the tapered head into her mouth and began to suck. The Bosmer’s small hands felt where it protruded from the hairy base, then moved up the bulge, gently squeezing as she went. She could taste his salty precum, as her own wetness began to drip from her slit. Vilkas could let out a loud growl. The wolf could smell her arousal.

Lifting a heavy, clawed hand, the beast easily tore her wool britches down the center seam. He snarled and snapped at her, and she dropped his member and fell back, all at once terrified that she’d done something wrong. 

He lunged. Mindra let out a shriek and scampered backwards, but there was nowhere to go. With a few swipes of his sharp claws, the wolf shredded what remained of her clothes. Suddenly naked, she shook as the beast snarled on top of her, his fangs inches from her face. He let out a roar that echoed through the cave, his spit and breath hot against her cheek.

The Bosmer whimpered in fear, but she found the courage to turn her head towards his snarling maw. Parting her lips, she began to submissively lick his teeth. The beast responded by shoving his tongue into her mouth, and she sucked at it. The kiss was frenzied, carnal and savage. By now she could feel herself dripping with cum, and she knew he could smell it on her.

Mindra held her breath as his tongue moved down her body. With a muscular arm the beast lifted her leg up, spreading her apart. He sniffed at her cunt, and she squirmed in anticipation as his breath tickled her. Gods, she was being teased by a werewolf. Finally, Vilkas took mercy and began to lap at her, his long tongue exploring her folds. It ran over her clit, and she gasped as it slid into her, lapping up her nectar. Heat began to build in her core, and she groaned at the sensation.

The wolf’s tongue was relentless. It moved in her, curling forwards and pressing against her walls. He pressed his snout firmly against her as his lapping continued. 

Grunting, he spread her legs wider and lifted her hips off the ground. His muzzle pressed into her, as his tongue began to work its way into her tight hole. She grabbed at his fur and let out a whine as he rimmed her, stretching her apart with his strong, prehensile muscle. It’d been a long time since anyone had paid her ass any attention, and she moaned as the wolf’s tongue wormed its way inside her.

She was dripping with juices, and the wolf reveled in it, lapping up her cum as it seeped from her slit. His tongue seemed to be everywhere at once— pushing himself in her core, then licking around her clit, over and over. The Bosmer could feel his teeth on her mound as he dabbed and stroked her nub. Her moans echoing through the cave as the pressure mounted inside of her.

His grip on her leg tightened as she began to shake, held on the verge of climax. Her breath was coming in short, staccato gasps, and as she looked down at the beast between her thighs, she saw Vilkas’s pale blue eyes staring back at her. He let out a low growl that vibrated through her core, and with that she spilled over the edge.

Her body shook as she came in his maw, his tongue pushing into her as every wave of pleasure hit. She tried to close her legs, but he held her apart, viciously licking her overstimulated pussy. 

“Vilkas, no, stop—,” she said weakly, but her protests turned to whines as he held his snout firmly against her. 

Just as she thought she wouldn’t be able to take any more, the beast dropped her legs and grabbed her by the waist. He lifted her up as if she weighed nothing at all, pinning her to the wall. His powerful length rubbed against her body as his hips thrust forward, eagerly humping her. The Bosmer was just as impatient, and she was aching for his bestial cock. 

Mindra guided his lupine member to rub against her dripping slit. The tapered tip slipped easily inside, and her breath hitched as the werewolf began pushing his length further in. She could feel how tight she was around him, gasping as she felt the stretch of his bulge. Her mouth hung open, and she licked at his lolling tongue as Vilkas began to mate with her.

Holding her against the wall, the beast steadily pumped his red, wolven cock up inside her. With every thrust he rubbed against the spot in her core, making her cry out. It felt incredible. The larger of his two cocks rubbed against her stomach, and she wrapped her hands around it, jerking him off as he drove himself home.

“Oh, Vilkas—,” she moaned his name as she came a second time, shuddering against the wall. She felt herself tighten around him as the climax hit, and he growled. Her vision blurred as she shook, finally going limp in his the monster’s furry arms. 

With surprising care, the beast took her from the wall and placed her on the nest of furs she’d made by the fire. Mindra stretched out on her back and spread her legs for him, in a clear invitation. Vilkas growled, hungry for more. He mounted her, pinning her down and forcing her legs further apart. Her breath hitched as his massive, swollen cock found her entrance easily, and he pushed his head inside.

The beast’s shaft drove further into her core with every thrust. Mindra’s eyes widened as his lupine phallus, slick with cum, began to push itself against her ass. As he worked his length deeper, his wolven dick slipped into her puckering hole. Her moans became frantic, which only seemed to excite the beast even more. He thrust himself into her more vigorously, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, grabbing handfuls of fur as both of her holes were filled.

She gasped and cried out as his cocks filled her, feeling her ass stretch where she knew his member got thicker. He plumbed her depths of both her holes with fast, desperate thrusts. The sensation was almost too intense, but the Bosmer needed more. She tilted her hips so he could get deeper, and the beast ran his tongue over her hard nipples as he plumbed her depths.

Pinned down by his weight, she stiffened under him. The wolf’s thrusts were deep, fast and arrhythmic, and she clung to him as she tightened. Her breath was coming in shorter gasps, and in response the wolf was growling. The beast knew she was going to cum again. 

Shuddering, Mindra let the feeling overtake her as she tightened and pulsed around his cocks. Through it all he continued to pound her, grunting and panting until, finally, the wolf started to shake. 

The beast came with a howl, and he began to shoot ropes of his hot seed into her. Both of his cocks were cumming inside her, and she could feel it filling her up as he began to knot. Caught in a haze, Mindra couldn’t think as the pressure swelled. Vilkas kept licking her as he swelled in both her holes. They were knotted together, and there was nothing she could do but hold him tighter and gasp. His breath was heavy as they licked each other, and they stayed like that until his cocks softened and dropped out of her one by one.

Mindra was a mess— sweaty and panting, as cum dripped from both her holes. The beast seemed to agree, because he moved off her and began to lick her clean. 

“Vilkas, what are you...,” but she stopped when she heard him growl. It was better to let him do as he liked. 

She sunk into the furs and he grabbed her by the ankle and raised her leg. She gasped as she felt his tongue run along her thighs, then began to lap at her pussy. The was cleaning her up, dutifully licking the mess off her ass and thighs. His long, prehensile tongue was soothing, easily slipping into her, lapping up the cum as it seeped from her holes. She felt herself pulse as It rippled along her clit, fondling her bud with his wet tongue. He wasn’t trying to make her cum- she doubted that she could- but it felt amazing nonetheless.

Leaning back, she let herself relax. She was utterly exhausted, and having her pussy licked and massaged was just what she needed after that pounding. Finally, the wolf set her leg down, nuzzling her hip with a low, contented rumble. Mindra reached down to scratch his forehead, and he licked at her again before curling up in the nest. 

She was exhausted, but forced herself to stand. Hobbling over to grab some of the shredded clothes, she made her way to a more private area of the mine and relieved herself. Normally she would be more modest and discreet about such things, but she doubted that Vilkas would judge her in his current state. Her legs were shaking and weak as she stood up and wiped. Fucking a werewolf had left her bruised, battered and sore— but incredibly satisfied. 

_Once was enough to last a lifetime,_ Mindra thought as she crept back to the sleeping beast. But if it ever happened again? She decided she wouldn’t be mad at him. 

Throwing some more wood on the fire, she curled up against Vilkas. He moved his body to circle her, and she snuggled into his warm fur. It felt cozy, natural. 

“I love you,” she whispered. The Bosmer knew in the morning he wouldn’t remember, but that was fine. She hadn’t said it for him. 

With those three words Mindra finally began to bury her old life, symbolically shoveling dirt into the open grave. She’d spent too many years standing on the edge, mourning the person she used to be. Until now, her past had controlled too much of her life. It was time to let go. 

Perhaps one day she would work up the courage to tell Vilkas how she felt about him, but there was no rush. Tomorrow she would wake up next to Vilkas, and step into the light without sorrow, guilt or regret. 

With that final thought, the Bosmer smiled, curled up against the beast, and slept.


	5. The Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, smut, a teeeeeeny bit of plot, and more smut!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading!!! This one was a lot of fun to write, and I had so much fun with Mindra that I’m thinking about maybe doing a prequel about her time in the Thieves Guild! (Of course, it’ll be very melodramatic and angsty, because why not.) Why am I like this??? Wheeee!

Vilkas struggled to wake up. 

It was always the same after a shift, like trying to climb out of a tar pit. He first became aware of the warm body in his arms. Forcing his eyelids open, he was astonished to find Mindra sleeping soundly, curled up in his arms. 

He looked around. Was this a cave? No— it was an abandoned mine. How had they ended up here? What happened to the Silver Hand? Why were they naked? Vilkas couldn’t answer any of these questions, but he was too tired to worry about it. The Bosmer shifted in his arms. She was warm. He pulled her closer, closed his eyes, and drifted back to sleep. 

When he woke the second time, it was to Mindra rubbing her ass along his hard length. He let out a soft groan. Still half asleep, he groped her breasts, pinching her pert nipples between his fingers. She let out a low hum and he squeezed harder. _By Ysmir,_ what a way to wake up!

Vilkas felt content in a way he’d never known before. He buried his head in her hair, breathing in her scent as he pressed his morning hardness against her ass. Mindra arched her back and stretched as he lightly kissed her neck. Raising her arm, she ran her fingers through his black hair, then turned her head to meet his lips.

“Mm, good morning,” the Bosmer murmured sleepily.

“ _Mmmhm,_ ” he responded. Vilkas couldn’t form words yet, so he just continued to play with her breasts. The noises she made sent a surge of blood to his loins, and he couldn’t help but squeeze them. She moaned softly as he licked and bit at her ear, his desire steadily mounting. He wanted to take her, and without words, he let her know it.

In response the Bosmer pushed her hips back, and Vilkas let his cock slip between her thighs. She gently rocked against him, his length sliding back and forth between her legs. When his shaft rubbed up between her lips, he was surprised by how wet she already was. He might not be able to remember what happened last night, but _Gods_ , he needed her right now.

As if reading his mind, Mindra pressed her mouth to his in a hungry kiss. Vilkas groaned into her, grabbing her roughly, demanding she submit. She whined as he squeezed her breasts, her breath catching as his teeth raked her neck. His urge to bury himself inside of her was overwhelming, and soon Vilkas couldn’t wait any longer. He impatiently grabbed his pulsing shaft, squeezing it firmly at the root. Pressing his head against her slit, he positioned himself to enter her.

Without saying a word, Mindra turned and pushed him down hard onto his back. Before Vilkas could ask what she was doing, the Bosmer eased herself down the length of his muscular body, her lips leaving a trail of kisses on his scarred skin. Vilkas knew what she wanted, and he wasn’t about to protest.

He leaned back and closed his eyes as her soft lips made their way over his chest and abdomen. Feeling her take his shaft in one hand, she gently squeezed and stroked it. Not realizing he’d been holding his breath, Vilkas exhaled as her tongue circled his tip, then ran up and down the underside of his hard shaft. If it didn’t feel so good it would have been torture. Mercifully, he soon felt the warm, wet sensation of being drawn into her soft mouth. 

Vilkas made no attempts to hide the pleasure she was giving him, moaning loudly as she sucked on his cock. He could never make so much noise in Jorrvaskr, but right now he wanted to make sure she knew just how much she pleased him. Groaning as she took him deeper into her throat, he felt precum already leaking from his tip. Her tongue felt so good that Vilkas knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

The Bosmer moved faster, working his shaft with her petite hand as her tongue slid up and down the back of his length. The obscene slurping sounds it made excited him even more, and as his breath sped up he felt a wet trickle of drool run down to his balls. He put one hand on her head as she bobbed up and down, thrusting his hips to fuck her perfect mouth. 

One of her small fingers started to rub circles on his ass, and he spread his legs for her. With a gasp Vilkas grabbed at the fur bedding, knuckles turning white as she sucked harder, massaging his hole and slipping the tip of her finger in.

“I— I’m so close,” he panted, “ _Ungh-_ I’m going to—,” 

She moaned as he came in her mouth, his head a rush of release and euphoria. Sucking at him, she milked his cock, swallowing his seed as he thrust. As his climax subsided, he shivered as she licked his oversensitive tip clean. 

“You’re—,” he breathed, “ _so_ good at that.” 

She wiggled her way back to his side, and put her head on his chest. With a few deep breaths he tried his best to collect himself.

Opening his eyes, Vilkas marveled at the perfect creature, now softly smiling up at him. Her light hair was disheveled, and he brushed strands of it out of her face before pulling her in for a kiss. Tasting himself on her tongue made him feel strangely protective. In just a few short days, this tiny Bosmer had broken down the walls around his heart, and held up a mirror to his soul. He finally saw that punishing himself also hurt everyone around him, how his selflessness was ultimately selfish. Something about Mindra made him want to mend his broken parts, and it made her all the more precious to him. 

“What did I do to deserve that?” Vilkas grinned after he pulled away.

“Oh, I felt like I owed you after last night,” she smiled lazily back. She was sweaty, disheveled and in need of a bath, but that didn’t stop her from being the sexiest creature he’d ever seen.

Vilkas furrowed his brow and asked, “What happened last night?” He remembered being in the tent, making her come, then she got on top of him and… 

It was no use. After that it was all a muddy darkness. He gleaned flashes— a pain in his shoulder. The taste of blood. Fire and burning flesh. Tracking his prey through the snow. Mounting his chosen mate, holding her down, spilling his seed inside her… His eyes widened and his mouth felt suddenly dry.

“Did I— _Gods,_ did we…?” Vilkas couldn’t even get the words out, he was so mortified. If he had done anything to hurt her, he knew he could never forgive himself. Yet here she was, unharmed and smiling in his arms.

“Yes, and I’ll need a day or two before I’m ready to do it again,” she blushed, “For the most part though, you were a gentleman.” 

She was giggling, and Vilkas wasn’t sure how to react to it. He’d never known anyone to couple willingly with a werewolf before. Maybe this was something he could discreetly ask Kodlak about. 

Vilkas listened in disbelief as she filled him in on the events of the night— his transformation, the Silver Hand scouts, the Dragon attack, sneaking into the fortress and tricking the captain. It was utter madness. She touched his shoulder where the arrows had hit, now only marked by two light scars. As a werewolf he healed quickly, and for the first time he was thankful for his beast form.

“And you managed to find the plans?” Vilkas asked, almost in disbelief.

“It wasn’t easy, but I think I got them,” Mindra said. “We’ll have to tell Kodlak about what happened.”

“We’ll have to tell everybody!! This will make an excellent story for the mead hall,” he laughed, and the Bosmer smiled. 

“Nobody will believe it!” she said, shaking her head. “Except maybe the part where you turned into a wolf and ravaged me.”

Vilkas couldn’t help but blush, and she laughed and laughed.

“It’s not funny, you could have been hurt! I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything had happened to you. I could have—,” but Mindra interrupted him with another kiss.

“But you didn’t,” she whispered, brushing his black hair out of his face. “You were very sweet to me.” Vilkas was stunned into silence. A werewolf? _Sweet?_

When Mindra finally stood up he felt the cold rush of air enter the space between them. He let himself watch her as she stretched, admiring her curves and perfect breasts. Only a day ago he would have turned away in embarrassment, but he felt emboldened after everything that had passed between them. Besides, the Nord doubted he could pry his eyes away even if he’d wanted to. 

“Vilkas, what is this?” She called from the fire.

He sat up, immediately worried that he had done something wrong. “I don’t know—,” he started, but she was holding up her leather Thieves Guild jack. 

“Our armor and supplies, it’s all here! Did you go back to get our things?!” she was asking a question, but it sounded like she was yelling at him.

“I… I might have? I don’t really remember,” he mumbled, running his fingers through his hair. “Being a werewolf…,” he didn’t know how to explain this since he’d never tried to articulate it before, “It’s not like I disappear when I turn. I’m still inside the beast, somewhere. And as monstrous as the creature is, it does seem to follow a strange sort of logic.” 

The Bosmer held the leathers and blinked at him. “So you’re saying that when you transform, you’re kind of trapped in there,” she worked out. “Does that mean that right now the wolf is the one that’s trapped?” 

Vilkas had never thought of it like that before, “Yeah. I suppose that’s...,” he paused to appreciate the idea, “That is kind of what it’s like. For both of us.” 

“Hmm,” was all she said to that.  
  
The air was cold, and Vilkas hurried to find his clothing. He’d have to think about what that meant, for both him and the beast. He was still looking for a way to reverse the curse, but in the meantime he had to find a better way of navigating his pact with Hircine. 

Mindra slapped his ass as he pulled up his britches. The way she got dressed was so casual, it was almost as if they did this every morning. Everything about it felt natural, and Vilkas liked that. He was a little disappointed when she pulled on her tunic, covering those glorious tits of hers, but with any luck he’d see them again. 

They suited up and said goodbye to their home for the night. Outside the sun shone brightly across a sea of white snow. Everything seemed to sparkle. The Bosmer was shielding her eyes from the glare and looking across the dramatic landscape with a smile. 

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, pulling out the map.

“Nothing. I just feel good today, that’s all,” she said simply. 

They followed the base of the mountains south and soon ran into the Imperial road. Their progress was slow due to the heavy snowfall, but neither of them seemed to mind. At one point Mindra caught his hand, and they walked in silence with their fingers intertwined. 

“Do you think…,” the Bosmer started, but then she stopped, looking down at their hands.

“What?” Vilkas asked. 

“It’s nothing,” she said, smiling at him, “I’m just anxious to get home, that’s all.” 

“Me too,” he nodded. And he was. Vilkas was eager to show Kodlak what they had uncovered, and do what he could to make life comfortable for the old man. Knowing Mindra would be by his side made the uncertainty of the future easier to face. He didn’t know what fate had in store for them, but as long as she was a Companion he would do everything in his power to support her. Even if- _Ysgramor forbid_ \- she changed her mind about him, he would honor her wishes. 

Squeezing the Bosmer’s hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed each of her fingers, one at a time. In his heart, Vilkas knew he would do anything for her. He was falling hard.

By the time they made it back to Nightgate Inn, the Companions were both exhausted, famished, and eager to rest their legs. 

“Back so soon?” Hadring called to them as they entered, “Dinner? Drinks? A night in our honeymoon suite?” he winked his bad eye at Vilkas. 

“Maybe one day,” Vilkas grinned, “but for tonight, our journey takes us back to Whiterun.” 

“Don’t give up, m’boy,” he said, patting the Companion on his shoulder. The Innkeeper could tell they were both exhausted, and he was kind enough to not ask any questions about the disheveled state they were in. 

Ignoring the two men, Mindra walked past them and sat down at their old table. “My kingdom for a bowl of stew!” she called, clearly exhausted. “Oh, and grilled leeks, if you have any.” 

The Bosmer rested her head in her hand, smiling as Vilkas joined her. She looked as tired as he felt. 

“Well,” she said with a sigh, stretching out her arm towards him. “We did it.”

“We certainly did,” replied Vilkas. He reached out to touch her, the tips of his fingers lightly grazing hers. At first he was nervous that she would pull her hand away, but she didn’t move. Encouraged, he moved his hand to cover hers, and began to rub her with his thumb. Even this light contact was enough to make his heat pound. When he finally worked up the courage to look across the table at her, he saw that the Bosmer was blushing. 

Suddenly, Vilkas didn’t feel like going home. He wanted to curl up in bed with Mindra, her soft, naked body tight against him. His grip on her hand tightened as he thought about how good she had tasted. By Mara, it had felt incredible being sheathed inside of her. The Bosmer was biting her lip. Vilkas wondered if she was getting wet right now, thinking of him as he was thinking of her. The thought of her dripping onto the wooden bench made his cock throb.

Just then, Hadring arrived with their dinner, breaking the tension. Two Companions quickly dropped their hands, thanking him and exclaiming how good the food smelled. The old innkeeper said nothing, but walked away with a knowing smile and a twinkle in his eye. Vilkas had never seen the Bosmer embarrassed before, and he couldn’t help but smile. She was blushing so furiously, even the tips of her ears turned red. It was adorable.

They ate in silence. Not because there was nothing to say— more that they were famished, and the savoury food was exactly what was needed after such a harrowing adventure. Under the table Mindra’s foot pressed against his leg, and it was all he could do to concentrate on his food.

“The carriage back to Whiterun should come through in an hour or so,” she said, her mouth full of leeks, “By the way, you gotta try these things. I’ve had dreams about them, they’re that good.” 

Vilkas knew by now not to be surprised by the Bosmer, but he couldn’t help it. “How do you know the carriage schedule?” 

“Well, I asked him before he left, didn’t I? The driver said after the storm passed he’d head back up to Windhelm. I simply asked him to stop here on the way back for us.” Vilkas groaned inwardly, recalling how rude he had been on the first leg of their journey.

“I don’t know how you put up with me,” he said apologetically. 

Mindra giggled. “When you’re good, you _more_ than make up for it,” she said, winking at him. Vilkas concentrated on the leeks. It was his turn to blush.

The sun had almost set by the time Bjorlam’s wagon arrived, pulled by the same pretty brown mare. The hour was later than they had expected— “The ol’ nag needed a new shoe when we got to Windhelm,” the driver had explained. Not that they were on a tight schedule, but they wouldn’t get back home until well past midnight. They were in for a long night.

Mindra said goodbye to Hadring once again, placing a large coin purse in his hand and curling his fingers around it. 

“Miss Willowwood, I couldn’t—,” the innkeeper stammered, but she folded his hand around the bag and gently kissed his cheek. Vilkas watched their goodbye, lifting their rucksacks into the back of the wagon. If it hadn't been for Mindra, he would never have known Hadring’s kindness or hospitality. Perhaps they should come back for their honeymoon...

Vilkas shook his head. _Mara help him,_ what was he thinking? It was too early to even consider such things. He didn’t even know if the Bosmer was looking for a relationship— for her this could very well be a one-night affair. His heart ached thinking of it, but he wanted to prepare himself for the very real possibility that returning to Jorrvaskr would break the spell they had fallen under. Nothing good can last forever, and Mindra was more than good; she was perfect. And when her desire for him inevitably faded, Vilkas knew it would ruin him.

Now that the storm was over people were traveling again, and the carriage back to Whiterun was packed. At first there wasn’t any room for the two Companions, but Bjorlam had the other passengers rearrange their seating positions to make room. 

Eventually space opened up, and Vilkas squeezed himself between an old, toothless Argonian, and plump Breton woman holding a white goose in her arms. From the looks they gave him, Vilkas guessed that he smelled even worse than he looked. Mindra took a seat in his lap, and he grinned in spite of himself. Even if it ended in heartbreak, falling in love with her was worth the risk. 

Bjorlam clicked his mouth and the brown mare started into a trot, lurching the carriage forward. Vilkas held onto the Bosmer, his arms wrapped securely around her waist. He cursed silently under his breath. Between her wide hips, the memory of how she’d rocked top of him, and the gentle bouncing of the wagon, Vilkas was instantly hard. 

Mindra turned her to smile innocently at him. He squeezed her hips in a warning. He knew the Bosmer could feel his length pushing against her, and she adjusted herself to rub into him. She was indeed incorrigible, and Vilkas secretly loved it. 

The trees rolled by as night fell, the road ahead lit by two lanterns on either side of the wagon. Nobody spoke the entire way back, which was just fine for Vilkas. It left his mind free to wander, to strip off Mindra’s clothes, to imagine what she would feel like in this position. Sitting on top of him, facing away while he thrust up into her, biting her neck and pinching her pert nipples… 

He let his mind play through the entire scenario on the journey home. It was the first time he’d ever entertained such wanton fantasies, but with the Bosmer rubbing her round ass against his shaft, it was impossible not to indulge his imagination.

In his mind he made her cum several times. He would rub her clit while she sat astride him, his cock and hand working in unison to get her off. Then bent her over the back of the carriage, and she came for him there. Next, she was spread open on the wooden floor, and he was using his tongue to pleasure her, making her scream his name. He imagined the Bosmer in his lap, facing him, and this time when she came he did too. More than anything, Vilkas wanted to unload inside of her. Suddenly, he wondered if the wolf already had. 

His fantasies were shredded by the thought of the monster pounding her, shooting its demon seed into her tight cunt. The very image left his mouth dry, and he held her with sweaty palms. He remembered how the Bosmer had said that she’d enjoyed mating with the beast, and all at once Vilkas saw her face in ecstasy, tongue lolling out of her mouth as his wolven form took her from behind. It was a thought he wished he’d never had, because now he was stuck with it.

Vilkas sat in silence, seething. He was furious and horny all at the same time, and the combination made him want to jump out of the carriage, run into the woods, and scream. The beast inside was frothing at the mouth, howling at the thought of being released. That wasn’t an option though. 

Instead, Vilkas closed his eyes and hugged the sleeping Bosmer in his lap. What choice did she have in all this? Even if she had given herself willingly to the wolf, it wasn’t like she’d had any other option. Vilkas knew he had no right to hold anything against her, even if the thought of their coupling made bile rise in his throat. He wished there was a way for him to be more present during his change, to feel like he had been a part of what they had experienced. Instead, the Nord felt like an outsider— an interloper in his own body. What if Mindra preferred the wolf to him? Against all logic and rational thought, Vilkas realized that he was jealous of the beast.

When the carriage finally arrived at the Whiterun city gates, most of the passengers disembarked along with them. Bjorlam and his mare trotted on to Riverwood with the remaining few passengers, happy to have some space at last. At last, they had made it home.

The moonlit streets were quiet as they walked through the empty marketplace. The only noise was a low din coming from The Bannered Mare. The houses, the shops, the signs— everything was so familiar, yet Vilkas felt like he was seeing Whiterun for the first time. Everything looked slightly different, and he squinted his eyes to try and see how.

As they rounded the corner, Vilkas decided that the city hadn’t altered itself in his absence. No, he had been the one to change. He had left Jorrvaskr not two moons ago, and yet it wasn’t the same man who returned. Even though he couldn’t exactly place how, Vilkas knew the transformation was significant. 

Mindra gasped as the black-haired Nord suddenly turned and kissed her. Cupping her head in his large hand, he stroked her cheek, slipping his tongue inside her mouth. She tilted her head up and pulled him close against her, but Vilkas wanted more. Still pressing his lips to hers, he backed her up against a building. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned her small frame easily against the stone wall. The Bosmer didn’t struggle— instead she moaned softly into him as they roughly kissed in the shadows.

He pushed harder, dropping his bags and spreading the Bosmer’s legs apart with his knee. Quickly undoing the buckles at her belt, Vilkas held both of her wrists above her head, forcing a hand down her tight britches. 

“Vilkas—,” she started, but she stopped when she saw the look in his eyes.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he growled into her ear. The Bosmer whimpered as he bit down hard on her neck, then gasped as he dipped two fingers between her folds. She was soaking wet. 

He teased her for a bit, lightly stroking her clit as he held her against the wall. She breathed into him as he nibbled at her lip. Vilkas groaned, and pulled his hand out. Cum dripped between his two fingers.

”Please-,” the Bosmer whimpered, but Vilkas cut her off.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, and she did. Mindra obediently licked his fingers clean, then took them in his mouth, bobbing her head as she sucked at him. The sensation of her tongue against his skin made his head light, and soon he pulled his hand back and pushed the Bosmer down to her knees. 

Hiking up his firs, Vilkas undid the laces on his wool britches and pulled out his throbbing cock. He knew at any moment someone could walk out of the tavern and see them, but he didn’t fucking care. All he wanted was Mindra’s warm lips around him. She opened her mouth, and he guided the head of his shaft to rest on her tongue. He didn’t wait for her to take him in, instead he grabbed her head and thrust his hips forward. 

The inside of her mouth was so wet, and Vilkas used her as he pleased. Drool began to seep from her mouth, and when he pulled his cock back she would stick her tongue out, letting her saliva drip down her chin. He forced his length back in as far as it would go, until he heard her gag. Then he resumed with short, quick thrusts, all the while holding her head in place. If she liked making love to a wolf, he would show her how much of a beast he could be. 

He only stopped when he heard voices coming from the Bannered Mare. Two patrons stumbled out, laughing, and clearly drunk. Vilkas kept his hand on the back of her head, his cock still buried in her mouth. He felt her tongue press along the bottom of his shaft, but they remained perfectly still as the two tavern-goers walked by. 

Vilkas looked down at the Bosmer, saliva dripping from her mouth as her lips stayed wrapped around his cock. She looked so good like that, and Vilkas moved his hand to stroke her cheek. As the drunken men passed, he began to move again, slowly pulling his shaft out of her mouth. It wouldn’t take much more to make him cum, but something about it didn’t feel right. He knew he could be a demanding lover, but he didn’t want his feelings to be a reaction of something the beast had done. 

“Why did you stop?” Mindra asked as he pulled her back to her feet.

“I…,” he didn’t know how to say what was on his mind, so he just came out and asked her. “Did you like fucking the monster more than you liked fucking me?” 

Mindra froze, her eyes widening as a smile slowly spread across her face. She stifled a laugh.

“I’m being serious,” Vilkas said, frowning. 

She pulled her smile into an unconvincing frown. “I’m sorry, it’s just…,” she cleared her throat, “well, how do I phrase this?”

The Nord swept his black hair back, impatient. “Just say it. You like me better as a werewolf,” he said, looking away.

“No. No!” Mindra reached up to touch his cheek, pulling his gaze back towards her. “The wolf, I liked it because it is a _part_ of you. If it had been anyone else, believe me- I would have ran like hell!” The way she held his gaze, he knew she was telling the truth. 

“So…,” he was still sorting out his feelings surrounding all of this. “Where does that leave us?” 

The Bosmer sighed. “It leaves us with each other. If you could have seen what I saw—,” but Vilkas interrupted, incredulous.

“What could you possibly see in that monster?” 

“I looked into the its eyes, and I saw _you_ ,” she said. “Your essence, your spirit- whatever you want to call it. As strange as it sounds, I could _feel_ your presence in it. When the wolf touched me, it wasn’t a beast. It was just…,” she paused, stroking his face with her thumb. “It was just you. And Vilkas, you are all that I want. It doesn’t matter what form you take.”

All at once Vilkas felt a warmth pour out of his heart, and it made him look away. He had always thought of the beast as a separate entity— a force that took control against his will, a creature that he had no power over. But Mindra saw them as one in the same. What did that mean? 

“I’m tired. Come on, let’s go home,” he said, turning from her. The Bosmer’s words had smoothed over his ruffled feelings. She always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better, and Vilkas wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He was so used to feeling angry or frustrated all the time, that a part of him had begun to enjoy it. 

“Whatever you want,” said Mindra, taking his arm. Neither of them spoke for the rest of the walk home, but he held the Bosmer’s hand like it was his last chance to do so. 

Coming back to Whiterun had been a mistake. If only they’d stayed one more night at the Nightgate Inn, or better yet, stayed on the carriage and gone to Riverwood instead. 

He sighed. Even if they’d stayed away another night, it would have only postponed the inevitable. Reality was bound to set in. As soon as they crossed the threshold into Jorrvaskr, the love spell would be broken and things would revert back to how they once were. Vilkas knew this fear wasn’t founded in any kind of reason— it was the kind of worry that only sprung up when everything seemed to be going well. If the Companion was good at anything, it was taking a good thing and ruining it.

If he was being honest, the thing he feared most was that tomorrow Mindra would wake up and realize she didn’t want to spend her life with a monster. And who could blame her? How could someone like her possibly love him? He didn’t even love himself.

His spiraling thoughts were interrupted as the Bosmer’s tiny hand squeezed his. He glanced down at her, his heart aching. 

“I meant what I said,” she murmured. 

Vilkas couldn’t answer. In reply, he simply squeezed her hand back as they arrived at the steps of Jorrvaskr. Only two days had passed, but it felt as if they’d been gone for a month. Vilkas knew Kodlak would see his change immediately, and probably sniff out exactly what had happened between the two of them as well. The old man had a sense for these things.

They didn’t bother to wake the Harbinger. “Let the old man sleep,” Vilkas said as they made their way downstairs. The hunting party was due back any day now, and soon the hall would be alive with laughter, drink, feasting, and stories. Right now though, it was dark, quiet and still. 

Mindra gave him a light kiss on the cheek before sitting down on her bed in the communal living quarters. Vilkas knew things would go back to normal when they got back home— it was foolish to think that she’d immediately start warming his bed. The Bosmer still had her own life with the guild, and she no doubt wanted space. Maybe she was embarrassed of being intimate with such a monster when others were around, or perhaps she just didn’t want to be tied down with one person. There were any number of reasons she wouldn’t want to share his bed, and Vilkas could think of all of them.

Vilkas walked to his room at the end of the hall and gave her an awkward wave. Mindra sat on her bed in her undershirt, her form outlined by the faint glow of candles. The Bosmer’s eyes sparkled as she watched him stand at the threshold. They stayed like that for a moment, staring at each other, until Vilkas finally closed his door.

He took off his armor and splashed his face with cold water from the basin. Tomorrow he would need to bathe, no question. After they made their report to Kodlak, perhaps he would splurge for an afternoon at the Bannered Mare. Drinks, a full meal, a hot bath— and by the time the others were home he would be relaxed and ready to share his story. 

Stripping his clothes off, he stood naked in front of his bed, imagining Mindra in it. He was an idiot, an absolute fool. She had said herself that she wanted him. That she didn’t care about his curse. Why was he so determined to push her away? It crossed his mind that rather than invite herself into his room, maybe she had been waiting for an invitation. Looking back at the door, he wondered if it was too late. The Bosmer was probably asleep by now, but still… He had to know.

* * *

Mindra stared at the ceiling, counting the knots in the wooden beams. She wasn’t surprised that Vilkas wanted to cool things off. The last few days had been very intense- physically and emotionally- for both of them. He was back home now, and probably wanted some space. The last thing she wanted to do was crowd him. 

Even though the Bosmer was disappointed, she understood his decision and was determined not to let it upset her. When the heat between them eventually cooled to a warm friendship, she told herself that she would be happy with it. She would think of it not as rejection, but as acceptance of a different kind. 

Going through these thoughts in her head was part of a process she hoped would lessen the pain of her eventual heartbreak. She would find a way through though— she always did. Her new family would help with that. The things that mattered were that she was home, and she was safe. Repeating the mantra in her head, Mindra closed her eyes, and soon she felt the gentle tug of sleep at the edge of her consciousness. 

No sooner had she drifted off then she was roused again by a pair of hesitant lips on her forehead. Before opening her eyes, she knew at once it was Vilkas, and her heart jumped in her chest. He stood by her bed, his naked form accented by the flickering candlelight. The muscles on his chest and stomach were taught, and his thick cock rested semi-hard against his thigh. Did he want her to finish what they had started?

Before she could say anything, Vilkas helped her sit up, kissed her again, then placed his hands at her waist. Lifting her easily to his chest, the Nord carried her back to his room. Mindra held on tight, pressing her face to his neck. She wanted to laugh, to cry out in joy— but instead she just smiled, happy, more than anything, to be back in his strong arms. 

Closing the door behind him with his foot, Vilkas gently placed her on his bed. 

“You didn’t think I’d let you sleep alone after what you did to me?” He asked as he unlaced the strings of her tunic. Easing her smallclothes off, he wrapped his hands under her legs and eased her down to the pillow. 

She gave him a dubious look. “After what I did to you?” 

“You changed everything,” he whispered as he slid under the heavy woven blanket. They were both tired, but feeling his body next to hers sent a shiver down her spine. He was hard again, and even though she wanted more than anything to sleep, she also wanted him.

* * *

It was her scent that told him what she was thinking. He could smell the desire emanating from her body. At first he told himself they needed to sleep, but as soon as she pressed against him he knew that would be impossible. Not until he had taken her again. 

“Can I?” he asked. Vilkas would beg if she wanted him to, but something told him he wouldn’t have to. 

Mindra breathed her answer. “Gods, yes.” It was all he needed to hear.

Vilkas slid down her body until he came to her dripping core. Easing her legs apart, he lowered his mouth to her lips, glistening with the promise of nectar. She groaned as he began to explore her folds, pushing his tongue inside her. He made sure to be gentle, his efforts coaxing a soft moan from her throat. Soon the Bosmer was seeping even more juices, and he greedily lapped it up as it dripped from her slit. He couldn’t get enough of her. 

He turned his attention to her swollen clit, wrapping his lips around it. Sucking and teasing, he pulled the sensitive bud between his teeth as she began to gasp, swearing under her breath. She ran her fingers through his hair, and pushed her hips up, pressing her cunt to his face. Vilkas tightened his grip. Moving one of his hands to her ass, he returned the favor she’d done for him.

It didn’t take long before the Nord had her shaking in his mouth. As Mindra neared her climax, he felt her hole quiver and tighten around his finger. She stiffened for a moment, then let out a soft cry. Vilkas groaned with her as pleasure rippled through her body, smiling wolfishly as he watched the expression on her face. He could do this to her every night just to watch her cum.

Wasting no time, he pulled himself up and pushed his aching cock into her. She let out a breathy moan into his ear, a sound that sent his blood rushing. The Bosmer’s pussy was gloriously tight, but so wet that his thrusts were met with no resistance. It didn’t take long before he found himself close behind her. 

Mindra stared into his eyes, her hands entangled in his hair as he quickened his pace. He let out a guttural growl, feeling his release build. 

Vilkas knew he wasn’t going to last long, but then he heard her whisper, “Cum inside me,” and he knew it was all over. She said it again, this time calling his name. 

“Vilkas, please... I- ah, I want to feel you—,” she gasped as his muscles tensed, and he pushed harder. “Please- mmmh, _Gods—_ _please_ , cum inside…,” and with those words, Vilkas came apart.

The crest of his climax hit, and he began to pump his seed into her. She held him tightly, her fingers digging into his skin as he hilted, his cock throbbing with every short thrust. Even after he was completely spent, Vilkas held himself inside her. 

“Thank you,” Mindra murmured. His only reply was to kiss her. 

They stayed joined for a few minutes, both of them enjoying the intimacy. Vilkas could feel every movement, every quiver and pulse. Finally, his shaft softened and slipped out, and he rolled to grab a spare piece of cloth from his nightstand to clean the Bosmer up with. 

“I was thinking…,” Vilkas started, unsure how to ask. 

“ _Mmm?_ ” 

“I don’t usually do this, you know. This whole…,” he gestured with his free arm, “Well, everything that we did.” 

“What? The sex?” her eyes hinted at a glint of mischief as she toyed with the hair on his chest. 

“Yes,” he said, trying hard to sound unamused. “I imagine you have more than I do. Which is fine, don’t get me wrong.” The Nord felt like he was digging himself into a hole. “It’s just, I don’t want what passed between us to be a one-time thing.” 

“And you thought I did?” she asked, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

Vilkas couldn’t help but raise his voice. “Ysgramor only knows what you think, woman! One sunny day you walked into Jorrvaskr, decided to join the Companions, then made it your job to drive me mad for months!” He may have discovered his feelings for Mindra, but the Bosmer could still drive him crazy. 

He sighed, and lowered his voice. “What I’m trying to say is that if you want to keep things casual, I understand.”

“ _But…_ ,” her intuition told him that wasn’t all he had to say.

“But it’s not what I want,” he said, finally getting to the point. “I want _you,_ Mindra. And I _don’t_ like sharing.” 

She traced his jawline with her finger, looking like she was going to cry. “Silly. I don’t want anyone else,” she said softly. “I haven’t for a while.” 

Vilkas perked up at this, and curiosity got the better of him. “When did you know?” he asked, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Oh,” she laughed, “I’ve known for a while.” The Nord was mortified.

“Even though I treated you like trash?” 

The Bosmer smiled coyly. “I won’t lie. When you’re rude to me, it’s kind of a turn-on,” she said, giggling. 

“I’ll have to remember that,” Vilkas said, closing his eyes. “Perhaps tomorrow you would join me for a drink and a bath, and maybe I‘ll think of some more ways to demean you.” He tried not to smile, but he knew his amusement was showing.

Mindra snuggled up next to him, her head resting on his broad chest. “I’m filthy, and need to be punished,” she yawned, and Vilkas chuckled. 

“It’s settled then,” he said, “Mead, spankings, bath,” then kissed her forehead as she lay nestled in his arms. He felt light in both his head and his heart. For the first time he felt a peaceful contentment wash over him. He knew tomorrow would bring its own challenges— the Silver Hand was back, Kodlak was sick, and he’d still have the beast inside to wrestle with— but for now he let himself bask in the glow of knowing he could face these things, and she would be at his side. 

As Vilkas stroked her hair, he heard Mindra’s breathing become a slow and heavy rhythm. He cared for her in a way he had never cared for anyone before. Kissing her forehead he let himself relax, lulled by the Bosmer’s gentle snores. It wasn’t long before he would follow her.

Hircine watched as the two Companions drifted off, satisfied with the glory their hunt had brought him. The Daedric Prince had more adventures in store for these two- great and glorious pursuits that would live on in legend- but for now he would let them rest, and bask in the glow of their conquests.

That night, Vilkas slipped into a deep, tranquil sleep, as dark as Oblivion, at last untroubled by dreams.


End file.
